


Chasing a Fallen Star

by Cas_tellations



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Anxiety, Depression, Drinking, F/M, M/M, Smoking, Tags will change as the story progresses, dans punk, i do love writing this, it's just that sometimes it's hard, it's meant to be sad, many thanks go to Ollie my beta bc she stops this fic from being shitty, mentions of selfharm just in case, selfharm, so bloody pretentious, which is why the chapters are so short/slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cas_tellations/pseuds/Cas_tellations
Summary: Phil doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. He knows that he doesn't want to be where he is right now, but beyond that, he's lost. His whole world is falling apart around him and then, through the rubble and falling raindrops, he sees the tall brown-haired boy with a cigarette between his lips, lies, promises, hopes and dreams on his tongue, all overlain by alcohol and a never-ended dulled sadness. Phil puts his heart into the broken boy's hands and begs him not to break it. (In which Dan and Phil fall in love under the stars with raindrops cascading over their thin bodies.)





	1. 28 days until

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so yeah this is a thing.  
> edit; I have just come back and read the first few chapters of this and... well I think it's safe to say that my writing's improved a lot since this chapter. I know it's horrible. Stick with it though, as it does get much better.

-Present time-

“You made me fall in love with you and then you left!” Phil screamed into the phone, tears racing down his face.

  
“You left and you’re gone and… and- FUCK.”

  
Phil knew that it was useless to talk on the phone when nobody was on the other side.

  
“DAN WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?” Phil’s voice cracked and he roughly threw the phone across the room; he held his head in his hands, palms pressing against his ears and fingers digging into the sides of his head. His knees were pulled up to his chest and he numbly rocked back and forth, trying to block out the whole world.

 

-Four weeks earlier-

 

The day that Phil had first met Dan, was also the day that he decided that he understood what Love was.  
In his whole 26 years of life, he had always believed that you just don’t ‘fall in love’ with someone, there had to steps, people had to learn that they love each other overtime.

But maybe that was wrong. Maybe you could fall in love in a heartbeat; Maybe you could fall hard and fast, crashing down in seconds. Or hours. Minutes, even.

The rain had been loud, thundering down onto the tin roof of the bus stop, racing down the thin clear plastic walls in a waterfall of water. The sound effectively drowning out any possible conversation that Phil may have been tempted to make.

But Phil had seen him, leaning against the outside, a cigarette in his hand, flicking ash into a puddle on the pavement.  
His hair had been curly and dark, but in the dying light of the evening Phil could still tell that it was brown.  
He was tall, at least 6’.

He kept glancing up at the sky, squinting his eyes to shield off the rain drops.  
The man flicked the cigarette to the ground, pushed himself away from the wall and glancing around him before flipping the hood on his jacket up and sauntering off into the rain.

Phil stared after him for a second. But only a second. The bus squeaked to a stop beside Phil, he had to get on it. He had to, there was no other way for him to get to the hospital. The hospital where he should be right now.

But for whatever reason, he didn’t get on it.

The bus driver shrugged, the doors slammed shut, and the bus sped away from the curb, sending cascades of water splashing up onto the pavement in it’s wake.  
Phil set off in the same direction as the man had gone. He kept pushing his other thoughts to the side. He would go to the hospital later, he would call his mom later. He would sleep later. Cry later. Think later. Everything can be postponed to a more convenient time, even if the most convenient time was right at that moment.

  
He wasn’t following him, not really. Just… Walking in the same direction as him.

Walking to the same bar as him.

Sitting beside him.

The rain wasn’t blocking out the conversation now, but still. Neither of them talked. Phil ordered two drinks and slid one to his left side for the man. He glanced up in surprise, cocking an eyebrow in a silent question. Phil just shrugged and offered him a small smile.

The man smirked and took a sip.

His eyes were dark, his skin lightly tanned. His tough outlook was believable; a leather jacket and black ripped jeans. Black earrings. Snake bites. A corner of a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt when he leaned forwards.

Phil wasn’t good with words. He never really knew what to say, unable to express his thoughts properly. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything to the man.

 

But the man said something to him.

“Hey.”

It was a word.

But so much meaning could be behind it. This time, though. It sounded flat. Emotionless. Dull. Tired.

  
“Hi.”

Was ‘hi’ a good enough word? Could you even say hi in a wrong way? Is it too forwards? Not forwards enough? Or is it just right.

No, nothing’s just right.  
Everything has a catch.

“I’m Dan.”

Dan. It was a nice name. It fit him. Kind-of.

“I’m Phil.”

Phil. It was an old name. Did it fit him? Yes. No. Maybe.

Phil didn’t know how to hold a conversation. What should they talk about? Should they talk? Maybe it would be weird if he started talking. Phil stayed silent. So did Dan.

They drank in silence, letting the noise of the bar wash around them. Paying attention to nothing; and everything.  
Dull murmurs surrounding them.  
They could hear it, but they couldn’t tell what the sounds meant.  
They were words,  
But they were meaningless to them.  
Just sound filling in the cracks that nothing else fit into.  
Phil envied people who could make small talk with little effort.  
How did they manage to just… Talk? About nothing?

It happened suddenly. Unexpectedly. Unpredictably. The walls seemed to be closing in; surrounding him with panic. Everybody was too close. Phil could feel his mouth going dry, his hands shaking. It happened for seemingly no reason.

No. Not here, please.

His chest was getting all tight and he couldn’t breath properly. Dammit why didn’t he take his meds? Anxiety flooded his every thought. And just like that, Phil broke.

Silently.

Without the realization from everyone.  
He had to get out. Get away from everybody. He stood up, not looking at Dan as he left. Because maybe if he got away from the people, the fear would go away.  
But rushed out of the door, unnoticed but everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

Someone followed him out, with mingled curiosity and worry in their eyes.

But Phil didn’t notice him.

Phil sat down on a bench beside the road. He leaned forwards, his elbows balancing on his knees and his head held in his hands.  
He was shaking.  
It wasn’t even cold.  
He couldn’t breath. Why was something stopping him from breathing? Why was this happening here? Why now? Why couldn’t it have just waited? Why did the panic always manage to overtake his life at the worst time?

Why?  
Why?  
Why?

His hands were raking across his skin, trying to feel something.

To feel anything.  
He tried to breath but couldn’t.  
He was suffocating.  
In his mind.

His head, an ocean of thoughts. Drowning fast. No lifeguard in sight. Just roaring waves, trying to pull him completely under.  
He couldn’t breath, but he was hyperventilating.  
He couldn’t feel anything properly.  
He couldn’t see.

Couldn’t think.  
Couldn’t  
Couldn’t  
Can’t.

And then there was a hand, strong. Reassuring. On his back, and a body, sitting next to him on the rain-covered bench.  
Someone was there.

But Phil couldn’t even look to see.

He knew that the person was talking, but he could barely hear the words through the raging ocean inside his ears.

_“Breath, C’mon. You can do it.”_

  
_“In…. And Out. In…. And Out. Phil, please.”_

  
_“Shhh… Calm down. It’s okay.”_

  
_“You’re safe here, Phil.”_

  
_“It’s Okay, It’s Okay, It’s Okay.”_

Phil strained his ears to head the voice. To feel the body. To think.

_“You’re okay, You’re safe.”_

  
_“Phil, Calm down.”_

  
_“Phil, Phil, Phil.”_

  
_“Listen to me, Dammit!”_

The ocean seemed to be shrinking, one second it was a raging sea, the nest a rapid river. A lake, the waves vicious and unforgiving. A pond, Gentle waves lapping at his body. A puddle, barely reaching his feet. Then just rain. His hitting his back, his head. His hair. He could feel it.

_“Phil? It’s okay.”_

  
_“C’mon, breath with me.”_

  
_“It’s easy.”_

Phil sucked in a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before letting it out. And again. Over and over, he sucked in the air. Feeling a hand on his back, rubbing small circles. The person wasn’t talking anymore. They were just… Being there.

Phil wondered why.

The rain was still hitting him, soaking him to the bone.  
He lifted his head from his hands.

More deep breaths.

He felt lightheaded.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

He was still shaking, but not as much.

The fear was receding, letting him out of the grip that it had been holding him in.  
Finally, he turned his head to the left and saw him.

Dan.

-


	2. 27 days until

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wtf even is this story im sorry to anyone who's reading it.  
> WHat happens in this chapter?????? Uhm. some stuff, like with danny and philup.  
> No spoilers tho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is horrendously short im so sorry i tried.

He held Phil’s gaze steadily, not wavering even for a _second._

He let his hand slip off Phil’s back, offering him an awkward half-smile and a soft sounding:

“You alright?”

Phil nodded.

He wasn’t sure if he could talk just yet.

Dan seemed to understand. At least, he hoped he understood.

His head was a mess of dark brown curls; his eyes a brown with flecks of yellow. He didn’t really seem to care that Phil wasn’t talking, he just leaned back on the bench, letting the rain wash over them. He wasn’t too close, far enough away that they weren’t touching but close enough that Phil didn’t feel uncomfortably alone.

It was silence, but it wasn’t deafening.

It was broken by so many other sounds, but at the same time it still seemed quiet.

_Phil could hear frogs._

_The leaves in trees rustling with a soft wind._

_The rain, roaring against the world._

_The sounds of people, floating out of the bar._

There was a streetlamp just far enough to their left that it’s light didn’t hit them. They were in the darkness, but that didn’t seem to bother either of them. They sat there for a long time, both hesitant to break the silence but wanting to so badly, as the rain was cold and the sun, even though it hadn’t really been present all day, was now completely gone, leaving shadows and darkness in it’s wake.

“D’you wanna… like, go somewhere a bit warmer?”

Phil finally said, turning towards Dan.

But he regretted it, why was Dan even here?

He was probably just waiting so that he could leave and go somewhere else as soon as Phil left, pity being the only thing keeping him on the bench in the freezing rain.

Why would he even want to go somewhere with Phil? Phil was boring and couldn’t talk without feeling stupid and like something bad was going to happen and Fuck why didn’t he just stay _quiet?_

But thankfully, Dan couldn’t see inside of Phil’s thoughts.

Dan nodded,

“Sure, why not?”

Phil didn’t want to point out why Dan wouldn’t want to.

“Okay…”

No no no no no where would they go? Phil wasn’t ready for this.

He knew that his breathing was speeding up and Fuck why was he like this?

“There’s a McDonalds a few blocks down thataway,” Dan gestured diagonally across the road- “You wanna go there for a bit?”

“Okay.” Phil’s answer was quiet but Dan seemed to still be able to hear him.

-

By the time that they got there, they were even more wet than they had been while sitting on the bench, if that was even possible. Everybody else in the fast food restaurant had similar looks of

‘We-just-came-here-to-get-out-of-the-rain-ugh-British-weather-why’

They slid into a booth next to a rain-soaked window, after ordering some french fries.

“The only thing here worth eating” Dan commented as he picked at them.

Phil hummed in agreement.

Just an hour ago he’d been sitting by the bus stop, watching Dan smoke while waiting for the bus.

Damn, Clara was going to _kill_ him for not coming to see her.

He wondered vaguely if he cared. But he didn’t want to think about it. If he thought about it then he’d feel bad and want to leave but he couldn’t leave now because Dan would think he was weird and Fuck he’s overthinking everything again.

Phil looked out the window, watching the rain splash against everything, creating dozens of puddles on the sidewalk that reflected the light of the streetlamps around them.

People rushed passed, as if they just wanted to get away from life, but it kept following them, no matter where they went.

Phil’s phone rang, and he reached into his pocket to answer it.

Clara.

“I… Um, I should get this…” He awkwardly stammered to Dan, who had no fucking right to look that good.

Dan nodded, pulling out his own phone and scrolling through it with a vacant expression on his face.

Phil stood up,

“Hey” He said as soon as he was out of Dan’s earshot.

“I thought you were coming to see me.” Clara’s voice lacked all feeling except well… Except for sadness. Her voice was thick with it, dripping off of every word.

“I… I was…” Phil knew, at this point, that any excuse would only be rude to her.

She deserved better. They’d been together for a fucking ten-year time period.

He knew that he should have been there. He heard her sigh. Too heavily. She started coughing.

“ _Dammit._ ” She cursed when she recovered her breath.

Phil pushed open the door and stood outside, under an overhang.

“I can come now?…” He said tentatively, phrasing it as more of a question than anything else.

“No. It’s fine, Phil… You’re _busy_.” But every word she said screamed;

_‘Just fucking come over here I need you so much, You’re never here enough, and when you are, you’re distant and unresponsive. Fuck, Phil. I thought I meant more to you, You always said that I meant more to you, you were here at the beginning but now you’re slipping away and I don’t fucking know what I’ve done wrong to make you like this, I know that your life’s shit and everything, but the least you could do is be here for your girlfriend like you used to be!’_

Phil ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face.

He leaned back up against the side of McDonald’s, glancing over through the window to see Dan, still engrossed with whatever he was looking at on his Phone.

“No… I’m coming. I’m sorry that I didn’t before. I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Clara hesitated before replying;

“Okay. Thanks… I love you.” She added the last sentence on the end, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say those three words or not.

Phil replied with more confidence than he’d ever felt;

“I love you, too.”

Before hanging up and pulling open the door, heading back inside where they had actual heating.

“I have to go,” Phil said, slipping back into his seat.

“Okay…”

“Yeah. So, um… Thanks, for, Y’know…” Phil ending his horribly worded sentence in a shrug, his eyes meeting Dan’s.

“No problem” Dan said, reaching a hand up to his mouth to play with the snakebites.

Phil turned to leave, but was held back by Dan’s hand, holding onto his wrist lightly.

Phil watched as he pulled a sharpie out of his pocket and scribbled something onto the back of Phil’s hand.

 _If only he had pulled away, if only he had left without a word, if only he hadn’t been so fucking captivated by the brown eyes and the rough curls and the black leather and the trails of ink snaking through his skin, if only he had gotten on the bus at first, instead of following this stranger to a small bar, full of idiots with broken souls. If only he hadn’t bought him a drink. If only, if only, if only_.

“Call me,” Dan muttered, then released Phil’s wrist from his grasp.

“I will.” Phil said.

It wasn’t a promise, was it? It was just a hope, just a _thought._

But as far as promises go, it was _empty._

_-_

Phil took a taxi, even though he knew he couldn’t afford it.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHH WHAT'S GOING To HAPPEN NEXT?????? idk. idk idk idk. where is this plot going? is there even a plot? is anybody reading this? whats the point of writing this idk!


	3. 26 days until

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk even know what's happening with this anymore and it's only the third chapter this is going to end badly  
> (Comments and kudos are pleasant to see)

-

 

Clara’s face was pale, he hand shaking as she reached for Phil’s.

Phil hated the hospital- sure, babies were born, illnesses were cured, but so many people died here, too.

Phil had known Clara his whole life- their parents were friends, and they started dating when they were 15.

11 years.

8 of those years taken over by cancer.

4 of them stuck in a hospital.

Each year, she only got worse. She knew that she wouldn’t get _better_. Sometimes she would appear to be getting better, and come back to her and Phil’s house, living semi-normal lives for a few weeks before it inevitably came back, _stronger_ then ever. 

‘It’, being the cancer. Technically, it was always there, the tumor inside her body so intricate and complicated that the doctors were refusing to try and surgically remove it; saying that the likelihood of her getting out of the surgery alive was practically impossible.

So she was stuck.

No way of living, just slowly creeping closer and closer to death.

Or, death was creeping closer and closer to her, a monster following her wherever she went, not letting her out of it’s ugly glare. She was always trying to stay a few steps in front of it, but sometimes she couldn’t help but to trip, falling down and hoping, wishing, longing, for the calm peace that death’s veil would reward her with.

But Phil was always there, dragging her to her feet and pulling her away from the monstrous salvation.

He refused to leave her properly, though admittedly he was around a lot less lately. Clara didn’t blame him. Originally, she had actually tried to break up with Phil, a few years into the cancer treatment, when the doctors admitted that it wasn’t  working properly.

Phil, of course, had bluntly refused. Stating that ‘You’re stuck with me forever.’ Clara just wanted him to be happy, wanted him to have a life.

But she knew that he probably wouldn’t lead one by himself when she herself was this broken and lost.

_He loved her._

Throughout his whole life, she had been there for him. She could talk him out of a panic attack in seconds, even just her presence could quench the amount of anxiety that he held within him.

But now she was dying, and the anxiety was only getting _worse_.

_So much worse._

He couldn’t go back to her for help, not when she was so fucking broken. They had been puzzle pieces, fitting themselves together effortlessly. But now the pieces were shattering within themselves, trying to hide the pain and suffering from the other any way possible. 

The illness had sucked all the energy out of her, rendering her pale and small. She had always been short, but now, more than ever, she looked tiny. Her eyes however, stayed bright and responsive, strikingly blue against the impossibly pale skin.

Her hand was soft as ever, steady, now that it was held in Phil’s hand.

“Why the fuck are you so wet?”, She asked, instead of saying the preferable greeting of: ‘Hi, babe, I love you, etc..’

“It’s raining.” Phil stated simply, using his free hand to push his hair away from his forehead in an odd-looking quiff.

Clara giggled at the hairstyle, her face lighting up as it always did when she was happy.

“You look like the genie from aladdin!” She laughed,

“No I don’t!” Phil protested weakly, trying to formulate a from onto his face, but gave up after a few seconds. It was impossible to even pretend to be angry around Clara.

“Yes you do, you’ve got a manly little stubble.” She pointed out, reaching a hand out to lightly ghost over Phil’s chin.

Phil moved his head down in a quick motion, grabbing Clara’s fingertips in his mouth.

She giggled again, pulling her hand back and leaning up to catch Phil’s lips in her own. Phil instantly complied, fitting together like stars in a constellation.

They were meant to be together.

_Soulmates. Forever._

-

It was late when Phil left the hospital. He didn’t even want to leave in the first place, but Clara had made him, telling him to get some sleep. She could see the dark bags under Phil’s eyes, and the way that his movements seemed slow and tired.

He decided to walk back to his apartment. It was a stupid idea; the rain still had not ceased and it was the middle of the night, probably closer to early morning.

But still, there was something peaceful about the city during the nighttime. Everything seemed to be rushing through a dream. Shadows swirled around the world, encasing everybody in it’s wrath. The cars rushing by were driven by people who had most likely drank too many energy drinks to get to where they were. But they wouldn’t stop there, they would keep driving until they got where they wanted to go, only to get tired of that and continue on whenever they felt like it.

The streetlamps illuminated the rain drops, shining a slightly yellow light onto them, resulting in them looking like falling stars.

Not too many people were walking around, and the people who were looked like they were half-dead, much like Phil himself.

He wasn’t sure how he got to where he was in life.

A shitty job that barely paid enough to cover the bills; a dying girlfriend; parents who were disappointed in how he’d managed to fuck his life up; anxiety, tearing everything else apart.

He was no longer sure of anything, there were always questions that needed to be answered. Sometimes, he wished that he could read people’s minds. Sometimes he wished that he could be fearless, Sometimes he just wished that the world would stop moving so fast for a little while.

But mostly; he just wished that he could simply fall asleep and never wake up. No drama, no pain. No thoughts, just sleep. Forever.

It wouldn’t be so bad, anyone who actually cared about him would get over it eventually.

Then, finally. He could stop thinking. Stop feeling the pain… Just peace.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is short the next one might be longer but tbh idk


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff's happening yay it's going to get exiting soon, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm disappointed at how fucking short these chapters are i mean it's not unexpected, seeing as it's me, but i had hoped to try and make Longer chapters oh well I guess that's not gonna happen.  
> ALSO I'm writing a new oneshot it's cool it'll be done soon, so keep an eye out for it okay? okay bye ily  
> (Enjoy the story)  
> P.s comments are really nice and so are kudos but pls i need feedback i feel like this story might just not work but we'll see okay bye for real this time

-

The flat was small. It consisted of a bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchen combined with a bit of a living room. But it was cheap, so it worked for Phil. He considered making coffee, then just staying up for the few more hours that it would take to wait until he had to be at work.

But Clara’s voice was still impacted deep in Phil’s head:

_“Get some sleep, babe. You look like you’re about to drop dead.”_

Phil crossed the living area to the bedroom, collapsing on the bed, tugging the faded duvet over himself, before falling asleep.

He didn’t change out of his jeans, didn’t even bother to pull his soaking wet T-shirt and hoodie over his head. He knew that he would regret it in the morning, but at this point he simply couldn’t bring himself to care.

He felt empty and still quite shaky from the earlier panic attack.

He ran his hand through the empty space in the bed where Clara should have been.

Maybe, this was what love was like.

It was feeling so broken and lost whenever they weren’t there. Whenever they couldn’t be there. It was wanting nothing more than to stay with them forever, it was feeling an intense pain on seeing them hurt. It was thinking that it would be better if they just stayed away, because then maybe the hurt would fade and go away, as if not seeing the person that you love in pain, then that person’s pain would go away.

  
Love has always been described as nice. It was supposed to be soft and careful and desperate and mostly, above everything else; it was supposed to make you happy.

Except when it didn’t.

This love, this raw emotion wasn’t nice. It didn’t feel safe anymore, it felt cold and hot at the same time; it felt like an earth-shattering scream. It was built on guilt and fear.

It was still love, but it didn’t feel good.

Phil knew that it would be filed under a ‘toxic relationship’, but was it toxic if they loved each other?

Was it still toxic if one of them was dying?

What was it?

Is this how it’s supposed to feel?

Is this how I’m supposed to act?

_Is this Love?_

_Yes._

_It is love._

Phil knew that, Phil understood that, more than ever now.

He’d always said to people: “I love you.”

And in a way, he did. But he never fully understood the emotion and the need that could be concealed behind and in between the words. It was still love if it held other feelings, because love wasn’t just one feeling. Love was built on so many different things. Love was something that could be constructed on anything. Love was compassion and wanting, love was so much more than just what the word wounded like.

Phil was in love.

But not in the right way.

His love for Clara was built on perhaps the wrong emotions.

It was still love, but it wasn’t safe. Didn’t feel as comfortable as it used to. Because this love, it was built on death.

It was built around Phil and Clara clinging to each other, both of them just wanting someone who would be there for them despite how broken they were on the inside.

That was when Phil decided that he knew what love was, what it meant. What it required.

Laying in bed, tears streaking his face, his soaking clothes leaking into the mattress. Listening to the never-ending patterning roar of the rain outside, Phil knew what love was.

_And it scared him._

-

Phil didn’t want to wake up. That was the problem with going to sleep, when the alarm went off in the morning it always felt like bags of bricks were weighing him down, refusing to let Phil drag himself to his feet.

He knew that it was a mental block; it was all in his mind.

But it seemed real.

He groaned, feeling the still-damp jeans rubbing uncomfortably against his legs.

Fuck, he should have changed.

He worked at a coffee shop, which was probably the only thing that he actually liked about where he worked, because as long as he was working he could have free coffee.

Other than that small perk however, his shift started way too early in the morning, his boss was an asshole, customers were always grumpy in the morning and it barely paid enough to keep him alive.

But it was work, so really, why was he complaining?

It took fifteen minutes for Phil to find the will to get up, and even then he was slow and tired.

He made it to work five minutes early, barely enough time to get everything set up and ready for opening time. He poured himself a huge cup of coffee, hoping that i’d wake him up.

Working at a coffee shop wasn’t really the best idea for him, as he was constantly surrounded by people all day and one wrong move could send him spiraling into an anxiety attack, but he had been remembering to take his meds more often, so hey, maybe he wasn’t a lost cause.

The mornings were busy.

They people just wanted their coffee, not any sort of human interaction. They all hated their lives as much as Phil did. But unlike him, their hatred of it could be pushed away by the coffee. Unfortunately, Phil just drank a lot of coffee and alcohol, but still the hatred stayed.

-

By the time Phil’s shift was over, he’d practically drunk more coffee then he had served, but still felt as if he could sleep for a million years. At the same time, though, he felt as though he could run a whole fucking marathon, which was saying something, considering how unfit he was.

The weather had been fairly nice that morning, but somehow by the time Phil was ready to go see clara, it had started downpouring again.

For fucks sake

Phil was starting to seriously consider moving away from London simply because of the bloody weather. At least this time he was ready for it, decked out in a huge yellow raincoat that he had got at a thrift shop for a few pounds. After a few runs through the washing machine, it didn’t even smell like an old man anymore, which was a great bonus.

-

Phil wasn’t, not by any stretch of the imagination a mean type of guy. He was friendly, most of the time, at least.

Except for when the bus was so crowded that he was pinned up against one of the windows and he had to get off soon but there wasn’t any way to fucking extract himself out of this mess that was the public transit system. The bus screeched to a stop, dammit Phil had to get off here but there were too many people and it was too loud and fuck he couldn’t have an anxiety attack here, not now. Angrily; he shouldered his way through the mass of people. But by the time he got disentangled, the bus had already pulled away from the curb and shit Phil missed his stop. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Phil tried to keep his breathing steady. This was the worst day for this to happen. He held onto one of the overhanging handles so hard that his knuckles turned white. He knew that his pulse rate was picking up and that he was sinking, farther and farther under the ocean waves that was anxiety, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He just had to sit through it.

“Phil?” There was a soft voice, right by his ear. Phil flinched back, his gaze snapping to the person.

Dan.

Of course, it would be Dan.

“Oh. Hi” Phil’s voice was shaky and fuck why was it that whenever he saw Dan, he was having a fucking panic attack, or at least in this case, on the brink of one. Thankfully, Dan didn’t touch him like he had last time. If he had, Phil was sure that he would have just freaked the fuck out. There were too many people around already, if someone touched him, he’d be pushed over the brink.

“Hey hey hey… We’ll get off at the next stop, alright? I can see it from here, and there’s no people there so it’ll be quiet and nice, okay? Just take a deep breath, we’re almost there.” Phil didn’t know why, or how, but Dan was a fucking genius at calming him down. He seemed to be able to sense when it would be okay to touch Phil, and when he just needed someone’s gentle voice in his ear, grounding him enough to stay just far enough away from the waves that they wouldn’t completely catch him and drag him under.

The bus slowed to a stop, and Dan hopped out, followed closely by Phil. The people were gone and there was room to breath, Phil shuttered,

“Thanks.” He muttered to Dan, who had lit a cigarette and was taking a long drag on it.

“No problem.” Dan blew the smoke away from Phil’s face, watching it for a second as it dissipated into the air.

“Why do you do that?” Phil asked a moment later.

“Do what?” Dan walked down the sidewalk, leaving Phil to follow him, which he did, without even thinking about it.

“Smoke.” Phil stated plainly, as if it had been obvious from the beginning.

“Ahh…” Dan took another drag, longer, this time. “Why not?” He answered Phil’s question with another question after a few moment’s thought.

“That’s not an answer.” Phil said, not trying to keep the sass out of the phrasing.

Dan laughed, the smoke escaping from his lips, clouding around his face.

“Bad habit, I guess.” It was a shitty answer, but Phil knew he wasn’t going to get a better one. “D’you want me to put it out?” Dan asked suddenly, glancing at Phil through his dark-coloured fringe.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Phil shoved his hands into the pockets of the yellow rain jacket. He glared to himself at how stupid he probably looked, old skinny jeans that barely fit him, a ratty t-shirt that really, really needed to be washed, topped with the raincoat. Dan, on the other hand, was wearing expensive-looking ripped black skinny jeans, a Sex Pistols shirt, as well as a studded leather jacket, not to mention what seemed like dozens of piercings, and probably an equal amount of tattoos, though the majority of them were covered by the clothes.

Dan was cool. He was confident. He was nice, he was hot and fuck, he was just comfortable to be around, even though Phil barely even knew him.

And Phil was… Well, Phil was Phil.

He was amazing, in every single way, he just wasn’t able to see himself that way.

“So… uh, I hate to ask this, but… Where exactly are we going?” Phil said, half jokingly, and half seriously. He really had no fucking idea where they were going.

Dan let out a little laugh, “You’ll see.”

Phil prayed that Dan wasn’t planning to take him to a dark alley way somewhere and murder him.

-

Dan didn’t bring Phil to a dark alley way to murder him. He brought him to the park. They walked past the playground, following the stone path, and ended up in the gardens. Phil had been here before, but it hadn’t looked like this.

Fairy lights were put up everywhere, illuminating it in the best way, the sunlight dying faster and faster every second as the earth’s rotation continued, soon it would leave England to the stars, but for now, it basked the world in a light dusk. The raindrops that balanced themselves on the petals and leaves of all the plants were shone on by the lights, making them look like tiny shards of diamonds.

The light’s colours changed slowly, turning an icy blue at one point, then a fiery red at another.

Phil had never seen anything this magical before.

He felt like this garden needed a nice piano or violin soundtrack to go with it, as it looked like something out of an honest-to-god anime.

“It’s beautiful.” Phil breathed, after he got over the initial shock of it.

“I know.” Dan agreed, stepping forewards into the wonderland.

And it was a wonderland, because at that moment, problems didn’t matter. Problems ceased to fucking exist. There weren’t any problems here, not under the fairy lights and the rapidly-diminishing sunlight. Clara’s illness? It was swept away. Financial issues? Phil was rich. A horrible job? Phil was retired. A bitchy mental illness? Phil was carefree, happy. Without any worry of thought.

Dan led the way through the garden, eventually stopping when they got to the center. He leaned over one of the flower beds, carefully picking a weirdly-coloured blue rose. Phil didn’t even know that roses could be blue. It must be some sort of genetically modified one. A shower of raindrops fell from it as Dan ripped it free from it’s stem.

“For you.” He said, a smirk flitting across his lips as he handed Phil the flower.

Phil took it, carefully avoiding the thorns that surrounded it. It wasn’t raining, but the earth still seemed to be crying from it. Everything was wet, but in a clean way. It was clean and pure and fucking shitty stupid problems didn’t exist here and Phil decided that if he could, he’d stay here forever. He’s stay here with Dan and weird-coloured flowers and they could see by the bright fairy lights and they could watch the stars and the moon and then, Phil would be fucking happy.

“You alright?” Dan’s voice, ever soft filled the silence. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

Phil laughed, it was a shaky watered-down sad kind of pitiful laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Thankyou.” Phil said simply.

Dan grinned, “It was my pleasure.”

-

Phil didn’t go back home that night. He stayed out with Dan, talking and laughing and just having a fucking enjoyable time, which Phil deserved. Then, as the stars were shining down brightly from above them, and Phil was so tired that he felt like it would probably be comfortable to just fall asleep on the hard stone bench in the garden, Dan invited him over to his apartment. Phil, of course, agreed without a second thought. Why wouldn’t he want to go home with Dan, continuing whatever conversation that they were having?

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Was that good enough????   
> Idk idk idk i have no inspiration for anything original oops   
> I hope ur having a good day bye x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi heres a new chapter pls enjoy have a nice day i hope youre good and doing good and are happy and have seen the movie and documentary that dan and phil just did they were pretty good okay bye enjoy the phan ily

 

-

 

Dan had two flatmates. Their names were Annie and Taylor and they were savagely playing mario kart when Dan and Phil got in, and at first Phil thought that they were literally trying to kill each other, but when they rounded the corner he saw the girls; screaming bloody murder at the T.V screen. 

 

The girls couldn’t look more different from one another; Annie was tall, Phil wouldn’t be surprised if she was taller than himself, her skin dark, complemented amazingly by her light chocolate-coloured eyes. Her hair was frizzy, but currently pulled up into a tight ponytail. The other girl; Taylor, was tiny. Her hair was strikingly red and freckles covered every inch of her face. 

 

They didn’t even glance up to Dan and Phil as they walked through the living room, too intent on the game. Dan didn’t even introduce them, simply stated: “That’s Annie and Taylor.” as he led Phil to the kitchen, then through another door off that, to what Phil assumed was Dan’s room. 

 

Phil was shocked, to say the least. Every inch of the grey-ey blue walls had been marked upon by what looked like sharpie; thousands of rough but amazingly detailed sketches covering the walls in the best way possible. 

 

There were obscure quotes from long-dead bands, surrounded by doodles dedicated to the lyrics of the songs; as well as some of Phil’s personal favorite bands, drawings of stars and planets, detailed sketches in pencil of a running herd of horses; an anime girl, her hair on fire, the flames flickering over the words: 

 

‘I’m fallin’ in love/But it’s fallin’ apart’ 

There were birds of all shapes and sizes, their shadows cast down on more and more lyrics, more and more drawings of all types and styles. 

 

Phil was momentarily stunned. 

 

The rest of the room wasn’t much different, a small desk in the corner held what looked like millions of drawings, scrawled with ease on thin white paper in pen, the ink on some of them had run a little bit, causing the images to have a ghostly- dream like quality. 

 

Dan grinned when he saw the look that Phil had on his face. 

 

“Holy fuck….” Phil breathed after a long while, tracing his fingers lightly over the sharpie-covered walls.  It all held a sort of tumblr-like aesthetic, Phil was sure that just one picture of the walls would earn thousands, if not millions of notes. 

 

“D’you like it?” Dan asked after Phil failed to elaborate on his ‘Holy fuck’

 

“I  _ love  _ it.” Phil responded without a pause. “Did you draw all this?” 

 

“Yeah.” Dan said, sounding rightly proud of it.

 

“Wait what do you do?” Phil asked, spinning around to face Dan.

 

“What do I do?....” Dan repeated, not sure of what Phil was asking

 

“Yeah...Like- I’m a barista, right? So, what’s your job?” Phil said, so tired that he didn’t even care that he was in Dan’s room, didn’t care that he was laying down on Dan’s bed, didn’t care that Dan was climbing into the bed beside him, didn’t care about the little smile on his lips as he answered,

 

“I’m a tattoo artist.” 

 

“Oh…. That-that sounds like… f-fun-” Phil’s sentence was cut off in a yawn, his eyes flickering shut for a second. 

 

“You can’t fall asleep yet.” Dan whined, poking Phil’s cheek with his index finger. 

 

“Watch me…” Phil murmured.

 

“Get some pajamas on, at least.” Dan said matter-of-factly, hopping off the bed and fishing through his drawers, coming back a second later with some way-too-big black sweatpants and an old-just-as-large-looking  _ The Main  _ T-shirt. He threw them at Phil, 

“Get changed.” He said, as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

 

Phil did, simply because he’d been wearing these jeans for way too long, and they were still slightly damp from running through the rain one too many times. He sat on the edge of the bed, turning on his iPhone mindlessly. His background was a picture of Clara, a huge grin on her face. He glared at it, Locking his phone again and throwing it across the room none-too-gently. 

 

He didn’t  _ want  _ to think about her. He didn’t want to and he didn’t need to and fuck, he just wished that she could go away. For at least a little bit,  just enough to forget.

 

Dan came back minutes later, a strong smell of cigarettes and mint toothpaste following him around. 

 

“You okay with sharing the bed or d’you want me to take the floor?” Dan asked, sitting onto the corner of the bed beside Phil.

 

“Sharing’s fine…” Phil murmured, slipping under the duvet and burying his head in one of Dan’s pillows. 

 

He felt the bed dip down as Dan crawled over beside Phil and pulling the duvet up to his shoulder, lying on his side with his back to Phil. 

 

“Goodnight.” Phil heard Dan mumble, but Phil was too far gone to repeat the words back to him. 

 

-

 

The next morning, Phil was awoken by Dan, leaning over Phil’s face, and saying, quite loudly, 

 

“Phil. Are. You. Awake?” 

 

_ No,  _ Phil thought.  _ No, I am not awake. I’m not awake at all, I will never wake up. Just leave me here, to sleep. Forever.  _

 

Phil glared through the drowsiness of the morning, squinting his eyes at the sun’s light. 

 

“Yes! You are awake, I knew it!” Dan’s voice sounded too happy than anybody had the right to be this fucking early in the morning. 

 

“Nope I’m not awake, go away.” Phil mumbled, pulling Dan’s duvet over his head to muffle Dan’s voice. 

 

He faintly heard the sound of Dan’s laugh, and curled farther into himself; so that instead of resembling a lump cowering under the blanket, he now shared many characteristics with a burrito, as he was completely enfolded in the warm hug of the duvet. 

 

“Phil.” 

 

Phil tried to ignore him. 

 

“Phil.” 

 

Phil tried harder to ignore him. 

 

“PhILLLLL” 

 

Phil gave up ignoring him and unwound himself from his cocoon, sitting up and  glaring at Dan. Dan grinned back, launching himself onto of Phil in something that he assumed was supposed be a hug, but had turned into some sort of american football tackle. Dan was practically lying completely on top of him, pinning Phil to the mattress. His head was resting right below Phil’s collarbone, his arms stuck under Phil’s back, wrapped around his torso. Phil tentatively put his arms around Dan, not going to question it. 

 

“What’s this for?” He asked a few moments later, his voice still slightly thick and raspy from sleep. 

 

“You looked like you needed a hug.” Dan responded right away, not pulling away. 

 

-

 

Nearly a full hour later, Annie glanced through Dan’s open door, and saw him and Phil tangled up together in a soft-looking embrace, both of them fast asleep.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me like a week to write and it's so short ew why so I do this   
> I'm actually really sorry that this is so short I promise I'll work on something longer for the next chapter.   
> Comments/kudos are really nice btw


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi pls enjoy this chapter its cool okay bye ily

 

 

-

The fucked up thing about this world that we somehow have the misfortune to have to live in is that we can’t control what happens. Sure, we can study really hard in school to try and get a master’s degree in something, we can try as hard as we physically can to get to a goal, but it’s never a guarantee that we’ll make it. In fact, statistics say that we won’t make it. The teachers in school always say chase your dreams, but if there’s no way to reach your dreams, then you’re just chasing a cloud of smoke that’s dissipating into the air before your eyes. You can do so much, but you can still far apart, no matter what happens, you will still go to bed one night and cry until your throat hurts and you can no longer breath, your face is all red and blotchy and the pillow is stained with tears, and you feel  _ lost.  _ There’s no one to go to, nowhere to run, because that’s life: You gotta face your problems and you can’t fucking control anything about them. They rip you apart and tear your life into pieces, they make you think about giving up and just ending everything, but maybe that’s the real test: to see how far we can go before we collapse within ourselves.

 

-

 

When Dan woke up, he found himself wrapped up in Phil’s arms, lying mostly on top of his chest. He remembered the hug, the way that Phil had melted into his touch, so used to comforting other people of their brokenness that he hadn’t reached out to anybody to help him. He hadn’t planned it, it just sort of happened, he had seen the tired and sad look that Phil held permanently on his face, and just gave into it, refusing to just let him sit there without any comfort of some kind. 

 

Carefully, without waking Phil up, he detangled himself from Phil’s hold. He fiddled with his fringe as he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes lingering on his walls. Even though he had covered them with art, he still never grew tired of looking at them. He could still see the faded pencil drawing nearer to the bottom of the wall that he had done when he was much younger. His aunt owned the house, and whenever his family had come to visit, he’d stay in this very room. She had never really minded the drawings, which was fortunate as they were all mostly in Sharpie and at this point would be impossible to wash off. 

 

He glanced down at Phil’s sleeping form, so peaceful compared to how restless he was when he was awake. 

 

He decided against trying to wake him up again, not wanting to have to deal with the utter monster that seemed to take over Phil’s body during the early hours of the day. He never would have guessed that Phil wasn’t a morning person, but apparently he just wanted to sleep for the rest of his life. 

 

Dan could understand that. 

 

It wasn’t that he hated his life, or even that he had a bad life in general. He hadn’t been through anything traumatic, everything had always come easy, it had been simple and fast and he always knew where he stood in the world. 

 

Until he didn’t. 

 

There was no reason behind depression. It was just there, swallowing dreams and tearing reality to bits. It had taken hold of him when he was sixteen, and had refused to leave since then. There had been therapy and medication, support groups filled with dead-looking people with no motivation whatsoever to keep living. 

 

Dan was different than them. 

 

Dan wanted to live, but he also wanted the depression and crushing sadness to get the fuck out of his life. He understood how some people just couldn’t deal with it anymore and decided that not existing would be better than living with the black cloud surrounding their every move. 

 

He had known as soon as he woke up that today would not be a good day. 

 

You can’t escape mental illnesses. They’re always there. Drugging yourself up on meds only numbs yourself to it, talking about it only makes its hold less tight. But nothing really makes it go away completely. 

 

It was dark, inside the cloud. Because that’s how Dan would describe it: a cloud. 

 

It’s a cloud of horror and darkness and despair; it drags him down and makes him never want to wake up or move or do anything. It makes him push people away and hurt everything close to him, including himself. It makes blades slice through his skin, red beads of blood appearing along the lines until it clotted over and thin white lines took over the red, staying on his skin forever. The tattoos blocked most of the old cuts out, and he was strong enough now that the blade didn’t call as loudly to him anymore. 

 

The tattoos and piercings, the leather jackets and ripped jeans, the loud music and cigarettes, they were all his protection against the cloud. It was his armour, his shield, his sword. It kept the cloud away and forced him to be strong for himself. 

 

But he could feel it still, eating away at him, renewed with strength. 

 

He could feel the claws digging into him and the need to just go back to sleep. 

 

He could feel the sadness and the doubt washing into him like a hurricane. 

 

He didn’t know why it had waited until now to make a reappearance, it had been mercifully quiet for almost a year. He hadn’t taken the meds, had dropped therapy, not because he didn’t want it, but because he simply no longer needed it. 

 

He had felt instant dread, fearing the feelings that the cloud always brought with it whenever it re-emerged from its sleep. 

 

He stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the cold autumn air brush against the bare shin on his arms, where the T-shirt didn’t cover him. He fished into his pocket for a cigarette, letting the smoke chase his monsters away for him. 

 

When he came back inside, Phil was awake, looking groggy and tired, his eyes holding badly-hidden confusion as he flopped down onto the couch in the lounge. 

 

“Morning.” Dan called to him, pulling out two bowls from the cupboard and pouring large amount of cereal into each for him and Phil. 

 

“Thanks,” Phil said when Dan handed him the cereal. “Have any coffee here?” 

 

Dan knew the look of an under-caffeinated person quite well, as Taylor seemed to consume more coffee than anything else, and wouldn’t function during the morning without a large mug of it in her hands. 

 

“Yeah, I’ll make some.” Dan said, moving back into the kitchen and bustling around, not liking coffee himself and trying to figure out how exactly to make it. 

 

It was good to have something to do, it could distract him from what he was feeling. It would stop him from doing whatever the cloud told him to do, whether it was to hurt himself or to hurt the people around him, pushing them away and keeping to himself. He didn’t want to ever have to go through losing all his friends and family again, it had been hard enough trying to get them back the first time, he could only imagine what would happen if the cloud took over for a second time and forced it all to happen again and again until he had no motivation whatsoever to keep living. 

 

By the time the coffee was done, both Annie and Taylor had woken up, sitting on either side of Phil on the couch, watching some shitty morning TV channel. 

 

“Morning losers,” he greeted them, handing Phil a steaming mug of coffee.

 

“Where’s my coffee?” Taylor asked, her eyes catching at the mug that Dan had handed Phil. 

 

“Yeah. Like I ever make you coffee,” Dan retorted, laughing to himself. 

 

Taylor rolled her eyes and hauled herself off the sofa to go find some coffee, leaving Dan to take her seat beside Phil, digging into the cereal. 

 

It was quiet, the TV playing but nobody really paying attention to it, or to anything else for that matter. 

 

Dan could feel the cloud creeping up. He wished that someone would start a conversation so that he could use it as a weapon the fight the cloud off with. 

 

But nobody started a conversation, and he could feel it growing thicker. Phil seemed uncomfortable, looking around the messy flat like he was trying to plan an escape. 

 

“Be right back.” Dan muttered, practically running out to the balcony to smoke. He had to, it was the only way to fight off the cloud. 

 

“I thought you were trying to stop doing that.” Taylor stated, leaning on the doorframe. 

 

Dan exhaled, watching as the smoke disappeared into the air. 

 

“I am.” He tried to justify himself. “This is the last one.”

 

“Stop making promises you can’t keep.” Taylor was taking no shit today. 

 

Dan sighed, ignoring her. He didn’t want to start his day off with arguing with a tiny smart-assed red-headed law school graduate. 

 

“Seriously, Dan.” Her voice was hard. 

 

“This is the last one.” He insisted, turning his head towards Annie for the sole purpose of glaring at her. 

 

“Yeah right.”

 

Dan chose not to reply. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with his bare foot, relishing at the sting of physical pain that it left him with. Annie frowned at him, but didn’t say anything as Dan pushed his way past her to go back inside. 

 

Dan hated deafening silence, there was just something about the awkward silence that was strangely too loud for him to want to participate in. The house was full of it. Taylor was still mad at him for smoking, Annie was quiet and sleepy because she barely ever got enough sleep, and Phil seemed awkward and out-of-place, not wanting to do anything that might inconvenience anyone else. Dan suspected that the anxiety Phil had dealt with had a lot to do with his personality and how he acted. He could understand that all-too-well, the cloud surrounding him and the ocean that Phil was drowning in were close friends and relatives, one wasn’t far from the other. 

 

Dan sat beside Phil on the old sofa, watching his leg shake almost uncontrollably. He still held the empty mug of coffee, like he wasn’t sure where to put it or what to do with it, so he just held it and hoped that nobody would notice. He had, however, been able to put his empty bowl of cereal on the coffee table, but then again, he had finished the cereal when nobody else was in the room, so it had most likely been quite a bit easier than now, with the tension in the room almost unbearable. 

 

Dan couldn’t deal with the silence anymore. He stood up, stretching his arms above him to work out the kinks in his shoulders, and offered to take Phil’s mug, which he handed over with a small grateful smile. Then went to go get dressed, leaving Phil with the TV to entertain himself with. 

 

-

 

An hour or so later, Phil made a bullshit excuse about something and left, leaving Dan alone with the cloud and too many thoughts racing around his overactive brain. 

  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos are v nice btw


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that the chapters are so short and stuff 
> 
> (one day i WILL write longer chapters but at least for now im writing /something/)
> 
> ALSO IF YOU LIKE MY WRITING I'VE ALSO BEEN DOING SOME LIL ONESHOTS RECENTLY SO IF YOU WANNA GO READ THOSE YOU CAN

 

 

 

Phil didn’t want to be here. It feels like the walls of the brightly-coloured hospital are closing in on him, trying to suck what little sanity he has left away. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember the way he had felt when Dan was holding him close, too close. He  _ needs  _ to remember it because he  _ needs  _ to distract himself from what he is feeling, the fear he is feeling. 

 

The walls are closing in and he can't  breath and the palms of his hands are pressing into his eyes and he can feel his legs start to shake and the walls pressing closer and closer. His eyes are squeezed shut and he doesn't know if he could breath or not. His mind is going into overdrive for no reason and the feeling of freaking out for no reason made him feel sick. 

 

He tries to calm himself down:

 

_ A deep breath in,  _

_ And out. _

_ A deep breath in, _

_ And out. _

_ A deep breath in, _

_ And out.  _

 

But his mind refuses to be shut up and he can hear it screaming at him, louder than the hissing of the radiator inside his apartment in the middle of the night.

 

-

 

He uncaps the prozac bottle and swallows two whole after he manages to calm down enough to move properly. 

 

-

 

Clara wakes up an hour later, bleary-eyed and soft-looking from sleep. Phil holds her limp hand in his, and traces his thumb over her knuckles slowly.

 

“How’re you doing?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady and soft. 

 

She laughs, hiding a cough. Her voice scratches as she answers. “I’m about as good as I can be, given the conditions.”

 

He talks gently, leaving her to listen for the most part, which she does willingly. 

 

She doesn't want Phil to know just how bad she is getting, but then again, also doesn’t want to hide anything from him. 

 

He kisses her goodbye when the nurse comes in and practically drags him out of the room, insisting that Clara get some sleep without Phil breathing down her neck. 

 

-

 

_ It stopped raining.  _

 

That’s Phil’s first initial thought as he steps out of the hospital - and the deaths it held - into the chill autumn air. He glances upwards, but all the stars are blotted out by the streetlamps, leaving behind a dark greying blue that surrounded the shattered diamonds in the sky. 

 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” A sharp voice cuts through his thoughts. 

 

“What, are you just stalking me now?” Phil asks, turning towards Dan. 

 

Dan laughs, the smoke in his lungs escaping past his lips and clouding between them;

 

“Something like that.” He says, smirking. 

 

“Oh? So you admit to it?” Phil shoots back, the tips of his fingers touched with cold though the thin material of his jacket. 

  
  


“Who’re you here for?” Dan questions as he turns to walk back down the sidewalk, leaving Phil to follow him; which he does, without question. 

 

“Girlfriend.” Phil answers shortly, not really wanting to get into it. 

 

“Ah,” Dan takes a drag on the cigarette that he held loosely between his pale lips, “Sorry.” 

 

“It’s fine.” Phil sighs. 

 

But it isn’t, not really. But maybe, just maybe, if he tells himself that it is fine enough times, it would be fine. Fake it until you do it, or whatever the saying was. 

 

Phil has no idea as to where they’re walking to. He doubts that Dan knows, either. Because sometimes you just have to walk and do something, not having a plan or an idea until it’s taking place and it’s  _ happening.  _

 

The sky is clear but there are no stars in sight and the ground is still wet from the rain all throughout the day. The drains clogged up with fallen leaves, causing huge puddles on the road and sidewalks, which Dan walks through but Phil avoids, not wanting to get his feet wet. 

 

Numbly, Phil realises that they’re walking in the opposite of both his house and Dan’s house, and it was nearly midnight and he was  _ tired.  _

 

Not just physically.

 

Sure, his whole body ached with exhaustion, but his mind also felt dead. Like it was an empty shell. The fear and anxiety were a part of him, and when he took enough medication for it to leave him, there wasn’t much left to him. Without the fear, what was he? It had overruled his life for so long that it felt weirdly light to be rid of it, even if it was only because of the medication. 

 

“Look.” Dan says, lifting his hand to point up to the darkened sky. 

 

Phil’s eyes trail up to where Dan is pointing;

 

The moon. 

 

It was bright, too bright for the dim lights that blotted out the billions of stars. It pierced through the darkness like a shard of glass right into Phil’s mind. 

 

The air around them was still. Dan’s arm fell back down to his side, the huge floating rock capturing both his and Phil’s attention entirely. 

 

It was like it could erase the hurt that haunted both of them, of course it couldn’t really do that, but it seemed like it if you tried hard enough, and sometimes trying was all they could do. 

 

Phil draws his gaze away from it when he feels the tears stinging his eyes. He brushes his sleeve past his eyes to whip away the pain and takes a shaky breath in, almost choking on all the smoke that had engulfed them from Dan’s cigarette. 

 

“Sorry.” Dan muttered, dropping it onto the wet concrete and stamping on it for good measure. 

 

“S’fine.” Phil replied, starting to walk again, this time leaving Dan to be the one to trail behind. 

 

-

 

Dan’s walking too close to him but for some reason Phil can still breath properly and he doesn't feel attacked. 

 

-

 

Phil’s drunk when he gets home. He doesn’t remember much of what happened, just that they had found alcohol and neither of them had held back with the amount of it that that consumed. 

 

He strips down and stands in the shower, warm water surrounding him and soothing his tired muscles. He can’t find the will to do much, but he does manage to lather shampoo and conditioner into his hair, as well as coat his body in a thin layer of body wash before rinsing off, not getting out of the shower until the water ran cold and drove him out. 

 

He cuddles himself up in his duvet, making sure to plug in his phone before he drifts off into sleep, the nightmares holding back for just this one night, hopefully. 

 

His phone lights up and buzzes just as his brain fell asleep. 

 

Dan: Sleep well, Philly. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, at least I wrote something. 
> 
> Comments/kudos are always nice nice nice okay bye have a nice day/night


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i bet you forgot about this fic. I haven't updated it in months. oops. But now it's back! It still might be a bit slow, but i am going to finish this fic.

 

.

  
  
  


When Phil wakes up, the first thing he’s hit with is an overwhelming headache, making his eyes go all blurry and his surroundings swirl around, seemingly turning the bedroom into a toxic wasteland. He blinks in a vain attempt to clear his head, but it doesn’t change the way that all the colours seem to cloud into each other. 

 

He stumbles into the kitchen, rifling around in a drawer for some advil, swallowing five of orange-looking pills dry, mentally telling himself to drink some water when he gets to work. 

 

Because that’s where he is supposed to be: work. 

 

But he is already late and he can feel his hands trembling with the thought of not being there on time, and fucking hell he wasn’t even wearing any proper clothes yet, just the thin boxers that he had managed to get on the previous night after his drunken shower. 

 

He doesn’t know if he should mix the advil with his needed daily dose of prozac, which is supposedly at 60 mg at that moment. Phil makes a mental note to ask his doctor if he could up the dosage a little bit, mainly due to the fact that 60 mg a day didn’t seem to be doing it. He tries not to think about what the doctor would say when he admitted that he was already taking more than that, impulsively during or after certain types of anxiety attacks. 

 

He shrugs and takes the prozac as well, pocketing the small bottle of advil on his way out of the house. His hands are still shaking, but he isn’t sure if it is the anxiety or the cold.

 

He’s late, that much is a given. But what’s not given is his boss standing in the doorway, a glare painted over his whole face. 

 

Phil can feel his whole body start trembling, but he forces himself to keep walking forwards.

 

He’s fired. It’s that easy. One second he has a job, the next second it’s just…gone. 

 

He can feel tears welling up in his eyes but it only makes him hate everything more. He blinks them away, nodding his head to his former boss and turns away, walking back down the sidewalk. 

 

It’s not raining, but the coldness in the air makes him shiver all the same. 

 

He pulls his iPhone out of his back pocket, switching it on for the first time that day. 

 

_ Dan Howell:  _ Sleep well, Philly.

 

His breath catches in his throat and his hands go cold. He continues walking along the sidewalk, splashing through puddles. He quickly typed back a reply with numb fingers, an easy ‘ _ thanks, I did.’  _ before shutting off his iPhone and heading God knows where. 

 

He stops briefly at the hospital to see Clara, but she’s asleep. The doctors tip-toe around the dead-looking boy, trying not to disturb him. Despite their efforts, they disturb Phil anyway. Their presence in itself unsettles him. 

 

He ends up in a bar. It’s not much of a surprise. He flirts with the bartender just enough to get a free drink. Then two, then three, then four. His anxiety dies down, and he's tipsy enough to feel a buzz, like he could run around the world. He slurs something in a low tone, watching the bartender’s-what is his name? Tom? Jace?-eyes light up, licking his lips in anticipation. Drink after drink and Phil still wants more because he can still remember who he is and right now all he wants to do is forget. 

 

It’s nearly 9pm and he's let the whole day go to waste. Phil doesn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s feeling or where he is. He doesn’t know anything. His words are slurred and his throat is sore from deepthroating the bartending in the bathroom after his shift was over. He has two missed calls from his therapist and four from his mom. But he ignores the notifications and swipes through his contact list. 

 

He calls Dan without even thinking. 

 

Once, twice, three times with no answer but drunk Phil is determined and he calls him again, this time with an exhausted-sounding Dan on the other end. 

 

-

 

Phil’s cold and lost and everything  _ hurts.  _ There’s layer to the dread; like an old acrylic painting. Reds and blues and purples swirled with white and then drawn over with black and yellow and green, and then again, painting rainbow flowers, a rainy sky, waves, tossing and turning ships. Greys fading to white and then splotches of black scattered through everything. 

 

He’s not sure where his rain jacket is, with the pocket that holds his medication. He squeezes his eyes shut in frustration, his fists balling up and his chin trembling. 

 

He sits on the curb, his feet soaked through by the water running through the gutter, pooling up where dead leaves blocked storm drains.

 

Minutes later, or possibly hours, Phil is not paying that much attention. Suddenly, a car pulls up and Dan jumps out, kneeling in front of Phil with a hand on his shoulder and his voice in Phil’s ear. 

 

_ “Are you okay?” _

 

_ “What’s wrong?” _

 

_ “Where have you been?”  _

 

_ “What happened?”  _

 

_ “Hey, hey, hey” _

 

_ “It’s okay, Phil.” _

 

_ “Come with me, alright?”  _

 

Phil doesn’t know if tears that are streaking down his face or if it’s simply the rain. 

 

Dan’s ushering him into the car. Phil numbly buckles up his seat belt, leaning his head against the cool window.  

 

The comfortable buzz that came from the alcohol hadn’t worn off, but he’s frustrated at himself and the world. He feels like he’s on the brink of an anxiety attack, whilst at the same time he’s floating on clouds, his mind clear of everything. 

 

“You’re drunk.” 

 

“No, ‘m just tipsy. A lil,” Phil slurs, cocking his head in Dan’s direction. 

 

Dan’s shaking his head and Phil’s reminded of his parents and anger surges through his veins but he doesn’t act on it. He just leans against the rain-covered window and lets his eyes trail along the pavement of the road.

 

-

 

Phil’s shivering by the time that they reach Dan’s apartment, despite Dan turning on the heat full blast halfway through the drive. He lets one of his arms slip around Phil’s waist, tugging his body closer to his as they enter the building. Partly because Phil’s shivering so much that his teeth are chattering and partly because Dan doubts that Phil could actually make it up the stairs in his drunken state of mind. 

 

The apartment is empty, Annie and Taylor nowhere to be found. Neither of the boys minded. It was nice, the quiet. 

 

But in another way, the quiet was the opposite of everything that they wanted. It felt like everything was on the brink of something, their hushed whispers and soft footsteps echoing around the flat. A glass on the precipice of falling onto marble, nearly shattering, a storm of fragmented sand encasing the ground. In that way, the quiet was everything that they despised. 

 

Dan leads Phil to the bathroom, motioning for him to have a shower and warm up. He tells Phil that he’ll leave some new clothes outside the door and that he’ll be in the lounge if Phil needs anything. 

 

-

 

Phil sways on his feet, steaming hot water drenching him. He shivers, though this time it's not from the cold. Many different soaps litter the shower, some of which have fallen off the small shelf and into the tub. He selects a strawberry-scented one, rubbing it through his hair and rising it out quickly. Conditioner follows, soon after body wash. His mind is muddled. He can still taste the bartender’s cum in his mouth. Can still feel the echo of his hands tangling with Phil’s hair and his cock pressing up against Phil’s lips. 

 

Gradually, almost without realising it, his hand makes its way down to his still half-hard dick. He takes it in hand, moving up slowly to the tip, flicking over it with his thumb. Again and again until he shudders, his body sensitive, responding to every touch. 

 

His back is pressed against the wall, the water from the shower barely hitting him from this angle. 

 

Everything feels warm, his hand moving faster, stimulating himself further. He lets his head bang back against the wall, his eyes flicking shut, his cock pulsing in his hand and his toes curling. 

 

He rises off quickly, his cheeks still flushed from his orgasm as he dries himself off with a fluffy white towel, running it through his hair until it sticks up in weird places, looking more like a lion than anything else.

 

The clothes that Dan left for him are all slightly too big, a baggy potato-sack-looking jumper coupled with sweatpants, both soft and most likely the most comfortable items of clothing that Dan actually has.

 

His drunken state of mind makes him more confident in himself and his action than he has been in a long time. He leaves his own clothes in a rumpled heap on Dan’s bathroom floor, letting his hand trail along the wall as he pads down the hallway to the lough, where Dan is laying on the sofa, his head tilted slightly so that he can still see the television.

 

Phil sits on the edge of the sofa, inches away from Dan’s feet. 

 

“Care to tell me what’s happening?” Dan mumbles, pushing himself up into a sitting position and meeting Phil’s eyes.

 

Phil slumps back into the sofa, drawing his knees up to his chest and glaring, remember the previous events in the day. He still doesn’t answer Dan a few moments later, and Dan, growing impatient, shuffles closer to Phil and taps his shoulder gently. 

 

“Talk to me?”

 

It’s a question, though it holds more firmness than any question should. It demanded a reply, an answer. Of some sort. But Phil doesn’t want to answer, or  _ can’t  _ answer, not properly. How’s he supposed to explain how much he hates  _ everything _ to a person who he barely knows? 

 

He does, or tries to, anyway.

 

“I…I-um, got drunk? A-am drunk?” Phil’s brow furrows. “I drank… a lot.”

 

Dan lets out a dry laugh. “Well that’s obvious enough.” 

 

He gets serious then. “Why’d you need to get drunk in the first place though?”

 

“Um… I, well...” He trails off, not finishing the sentence.

 

“You what?” Dan presses. “What happened, Philly?” 

 

A smile flashes underneath Phil’s face when he hears the fond nickname.

 

“...Fired?” Phil whispers weakly.  “Girlfriend’s dying? Meds not working? Anxiety? Feeling scared or hurt  _ all the time _ ? Not knowing what I’m going to do?” Phil rattles on.  “Hating myself? Not having a future? Parents that don’t seem to care about how fucking broken I am? Life in general?” 

 

He watches in almost amusement as a look of shock flashes over Dan’s face. 

 

“So yeah,” Phil continues, “yeah I’m gonna go get shitfaced and I’m gonna go suck some ugly bartender off in the bathroom, and then, when you let me go home, I’m gonna fucking kill myself and then I’ll never have to remember any of this ever again.” 

 

It is a lie, of course. He doesn’t want to kill himself, through this all. Nearly everything has gone wrong but really, deep down, he doesn’t want to just give up. He wants to keep living and to be  _ happy  _ again.

 

Dan, at a loss of anything else to do, shuffles even closer and slings an arm around Phil’s shoulders, drawing him close. 

 

“It’ll be fine,” Dan murmurs, “everything will be fine.”

 

-

 

Dan goes outside to the patio after he pulls a blanket over Phil’s sleeping form, cuddled up on the sofa. He lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag on it, wondering for a second if he could burn off the whole fag in one go. He sits down on a shitty plastic chair, resting his elbows on his thighs and staring up at the dark night sky, watching the stars flit through his vision.

 

He’s tired, so  _ tired.  _ All he wants to do is sleep for years. But he can’t. He can’t because everytime that he closes his eyes and curls up in bed, his mind attacks him. 

 

-

 

Phil dreams about Clara, back when they were teenagers and sickness hadn’t taken over either of their lives yet. 

 

-

 

When Phil wakes up, he’s confused until he sees Dan, dressed in loose grey sweatpants, tattoos on his torso vivid against his tanned skin, as he seemed to have forgotten to slip a T-shirt on when he got dressed that morning. 

 

“Headache?” Dan greets the hungover and still-sleepy Phil. 

 

“Yeah,” Phil mutters, bringing a hand up to his forehead and pushes his messy fringe back into a quiff. 

 

Dan gets Phil a glass of water, watching as the black-haired boy downs it all in one huge gulp. He gives Phil some advil and turns off the light in the lounge, as well as turning off the television, leaving everything dark and quiet. Dan knows all too well the ache that comes with being hungover. 

 

The sofa lets out a little sign as Dan sits back down, leaning back so that his head rests against the armrest, and he flings his feet onto Phil’s lap.

 

“So.” Dan starts.

 

“So?” Phil asks when Dan fails to elaborate, his throat still a little bit raspy and sore.

 

“I’m sorry about your job… and girlfriend… and everything else.” Dan murmurs, his voice barely audible. 

 

“Yeah,” Phil sighs, leaning back into the sofa and arching his neck so that he was staring at the ceiling, “Me too.” 

 

Dan can hear the sadness that Phil’s words hold.

 

“...But, that still doesn’t mean that you have to kill yourself.” Dan muttered, watching Phil’s face for a reaction.

 

A look of regret shoots through Phil’s face, the look not going missed by Dan’s stare. Like he wishes that he hadn’t said what he did last night.

 

“Yeah, I -um. I know.” Phil replies, keeping his answer hushed. He rests his hands on Dan’s skin, lightly tapping his fingers against the soft fabric of the sweatpants. 

 

“Look, Phil. I know how hard it can get.  _ Fuck _ -I get it. But don’t…don’t just give up. Please.” Dan says softly. 

 

“I won’t.” Phil answers gently, coughing at the end. He silently curses himself, he shouldn’t have deepthroated Jim or Tom or whatever his name was. 

 

“Want some tea?” Dan asks, moving his feet off of Phil’s lap and he goes to the kitchen without waiting for an answer from Phil.

 

-

 

Phil pulls his phone out of his pocket, horrified at the sheer amount of notifications that waited for him. Several missed calls from his mom, Clara, the therapist, even the hospital had called. He shudders, thinking of what they want to talk to him about. Whatever it is, it wouldn’t be good. He texts a few people, reassuring them that he was alive. Barely, but still alive. Still breathing, if that could count for anything. 

 

Dan comes back a few minutes later with two mugs of tea, handing one of the mugs to Phil before sitting back down next to him. 

 

The mug is covered in constellations, little stars dotted about with lines between them, connecting them to where they belong in the sky. 

 

-

 

Phil doesn’t leave to go back to his own flat that night. He doesn’t want to, it’s filled to the brim with memories that he’d rather forget. So he naps a bit after he finishes his tea, accepts the advil that Dan offers him for his headache, and plays Monopoly with Annie and Taylor when they get home. He smiles a bit and tries to ignore the pained look that seems stuck on Dan’s face. 

 

He slides into bed next to the tattoo-covered boy in the early hours of the morning and whispers a quiet goodnight through the air, hoping that Dan will see it as more than a goodnight. Hoping he’ll see it as a  _ ‘thank you.’ _

 

-

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that! comments/kudos are always appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so happy that im writing this again you have no idea how much fun it is

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Phil wakes up with blankets tangled across his legs and sweat glistening over his body. His breathing is a bit too rapid to be anything close to normal and his mind is set into overdrive, anxiety digging its claws into his vulnerable flesh. 

 

Immediately, he presses his lips into a thin line and tries to focus on breathing through his nose, keeping his eyes shut. 

 

It isn’t unusual for him to wake up like this. Isn’t unusual for him to wake up in the midst of an anxiety attack. 

 

It is like a monster lives inside his mind, and when it is hungry, it claws and bites at Phil, leaving panic in its wake. It is scary, like icy cold water splashing over his insides, leaking through his skin in sweat and making his blood cells shiver, sending morse code under his skin to his heart, telling it to quicken up its pace. 

 

He bites his lip hard, letting himself focus on the physical pain rather than the monster inside of his head. 

 

He goes back to sleep as soon as he calms himself down enough. 

 

-

 

The smoke touches his lips, a promise, as soft and sticky as honey. It coats his entire being, pulling him down whilst at the very same time lifting him up. His brown hair is curled, and sweat drips down his face. He tries to yell, but no sound comes out. He tries screaming, tries begging. For anything, help. Distraction. A way out. 

 

He wakes up moments later, his cries for help in his dreams having been answered. 

 

He combs his fingers through his fringe, flattening it a bit.

 

By his side, the sleeping form of Phil mumbles something incoherent, rolling farther away from Dan, closer to the edge of the bed. 

 

“Phil,” Dan hisses, his voice cutting through the silence of the room. “Wake up.” 

 

He nudges a hand against Phil’s shoulder. “Wake up.” This time the words are said louder, almost at normal level. But not quite. 

 

_ Wake up, wake up, wake up, a million times; wake up.  _

 

“Wake up,” Dan prods at Phil’s shoulder, earning a muffled,  _ “Fuck off!”  _

 

Dan rolls closer, slinging an arm around Phil’s waist, pressing his head right next to Phil’s ear. “Phil.” A normal voice. Too loud for such a small amount of space. 

 

-

 

When Phil wakes up properly, without the anxiety or an annoying prick, he’s comfortable. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to move, and not from exhaustion. It feels  _ safe.  _ Phil sighs, tugging the duvet up a little bit more comfortably around his neck. 

 

“Good morning,” Phil hears someone mumble, presumably Dan. He’s on his phone, propped up against the headboard by at least a dozen pillows. 

 

“What time’s it?” Phil mumbles, still half asleep. 

 

“Half past eleven,” Dan replies, sounding too bright and cheery to match with the person whom once scratched those dull lyrics into the walls, “You gonna wake up now or is it still too early for you?” He teases dully. 

 

“Morning time. Have to-” Phil yawns, pausing for a second. “-Have to  _ do  _ stuff today.” His voice lacks any excitement that he could possibly have been holding. 

 

“Ah.” Dan keeps his reply short. Truth be told, he doesn't actually care all that much. “So does that mean that you’re gonna be leaving or….?” Dan trails off, glancing up from his phone to meet Phil’s tired eyes. 

 

“Well-yeah. I mean, what’s the point of staying if you’re tired of me-” 

 

“I’m not-”

 

“-Then I’ll go back to my flat-”

 

“-Tired of you, you spork.” Dan laughs, but he doesn't have any humor in his tone as he says, “stay as long as you like. You’re much better company than Annie and Taylor ever are.” 

 

“They’re literally at school or work all the time,” Phil reminds the other man. 

 

“My point exactly.” Dan shoots back. 

 

“So, I can stay,” Phil confirms. 

 

“You can stay.” 

 

“You’re gonna get tired of me pretty quickly, by the end of the day you’ll be begging me to leave.” Phil jokes badly. 

 

“Not begging you to leave, but sure-maybe begging you for something else,” Dan meets Phil’s eyes, winking, a smirk stretching across his lips. The room freezes and Phil can’t believe that Dan had just said that. Not after what had happened. Not after drunk, crying, and emotionally done Phil had come to him and poured everything onto the other boy. Granted, he had lacked a bit in details, but the base was there and he thought Dan understood that. But Phil can’t take this. Not even as a joke, it’s too soon.

 

“Don’t.” Phil snaps, effectively wiping  _ that look  _ off of Dan’s face. Dan mutters an apology and then says something about going to go shower - or something along those lines, Phil doesn’t pick his words up too clearly - and is out of the room in a flash, escaping the suddenly-tense atmosphere. 

 

-

 

He says bye to Dan before he leaves to go to the hospital - general politeness ingrained in his mind at a young age from his parents, far outweighing the discomfort he had felt when Dan had said what he did - and is surprised when the other boy offers to drive him. Phil agrees after a moment's thought, because standing out in the rain waiting for the bus to come and then inevitably finding out that he didn’t even have enough spare change to pay for a fucking  _ bus fare  _ is far worse than getting driven to the hospital in a relatively nice-looking car, by someone who doesn’t look like he’s got anything better to do. 

 

Dan gives him a look somewhere between a  _ ‘I’m smiling because I feel sorry for you.’  _ and a  _ ‘I’m genuinely smiling because I actually want to do this’ _ , But even this seems too short and strained for what Phil was used to getting from Dan. 

 

About halfway through the relatively short drive and with barely a dozen words having been said between them, Dan speaks. “You’re not mad at me, right?” With such a worried tone of voice that Phil wants to punch him in the throat for even  _ thinking  _ that he might be mad at him.

 

“No,” Phil says as soon as Dan voices his question. “God,  _ no.  _ I’m just…I don’t know.” 

 

Dan says, “No it’s fine I - you don’t have to explain yourself-”

 

“-No, I  _ do _ -”

 

“Don’t, Phil. I shouldn’t have said it but. It’s over now let's just… Move past it? Is that alright Philly?” He tries out the nickname with a slight smile.

 

“You shouldn’t have to tiptoe around me like I’m a fucking china doll.” Phil deadpans, ignoring Dan’s words. “Just - treat me like a normal person? Don’t change just because of my mental state.”

 

“How d’you know that  _ this  _ is me being real? You keep forgetting that we barely even know each other. When did we meet? A week ago? Something like that?” Dan shoots back, easily proving a valid point. 

 

Phil tries to think back to first meeting Dan. First seeing Dan, a silhouette against the outside of a bus stop, a cigarette between his fingers and smoke on his lips. And then, later, in a bar, buying him a drink and telling him his name. Even later, outside, rain still cascading everywhere, a hand between his shoulderblades, somehow being everywhere but  _ nowhere  _ at the same time, dragging him out of an ocean of panic seemingly easily. A stammered “D’you wanna…like, go somewhere a bit warmer?” Which would all eventually turn into a scared “You’re not mad at me, right?” Which sounded so much more like a “I think you might hate me but you seem too polite to say anything but I’m really worried that you do so please,  _ please,  _ tell me I’m wrong.” 

 

It seems like so much longer than the short time that it actually had been. It seemed like months, years, decades. Entire lifetimes built around knowing the boy with tattoos covering his chest and arms and hips. 

 

“See.” Dan starts, “see, you don’t even know  _ when. _ ” 

 

Like he had been reading his mind. 

 

“It just - It seems like a long time.” Phil says, confused. He was so trusting of the other person. Eating his food, sleeping in his bed, playing Mario Kart with his roommates after a badly-ended Monopoly match. 

 

“Yeah,” Dan stops at a red light, drumming his hands on the steering wheel in time to a song stuck in his head. “It does to me too.” 

 

“Is that weird?” Phil wonders out loud, staring out the windshield at a school group crossing the road.

 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Kind-of?” Dan covers every outcome. His gaze is just as troubled as Phil’s is. 

 

“It’s never been like this before.” 

 

And Dan replies, in a tone so full of fondness it could be the voice of someone saying their vows mid-wedding, “It’s never been like this before.” 

 

-

 

Dan accompanies Phil to the hospital room, instead of the initial  _ ‘drop me off at the front doors and pick me up a few hours later so that I’m not stranded’  _ that had been the silent agreement between the two. 

 

Dan lurks outside the closed door for a minute whilst Phil ducks in and kisses Clara’s forehead softly, greeting her with a gentle  _ ‘hello dear,’  _ and then proceeds to say,  _ ‘I brought someone with me, d’you wanna meet him?’  _ to which Clara says a strained  _ ‘Of course, what’s his name?’ _

 

“Dan. His name is Dan.” 

 

And with that, pale red meets black when Clara’s green eyes find Dan’s brown ones. The room shifts quickly. Easily. One second it’s Phil and Clara, Phil with his hand resting on her shoulder, his words spoken in her direction. And then it isn’t. Phil gravitates to Dan’s side of his own accord. The blue that Phil exudes, usually intertwined with Clara’s pale red, suddenly seems woven into a water-coloured tapestry with Dan’s black, the pale red clinging on to the edges but not  _ really  _ there. 

 

“Hi,” Dan says, his voice small. 

 

“Hey,” Clara greets him easily. She always had been like that - able to make small talk, pick up conversation, make people smile. Be social, whilst at the same time somehow managing to maintain close friendships with only a few people. 

 

Phil ends up carrying on the majority of the conversation, the bridge between the two islands of Clara and Dan. 

 

Clara doesn’t miss the way that they seem attached by the hip. She doesn’t miss the way that Phil seems ever so slightly farther away from her than when he usually is when they’re together. She doesn’t miss the sidelong glances and the smiles and the touches, however brief. She sees all of it, but doesn’t make a move to push Dan away, doesn’t even try to say  _ ‘Hey, that’s my boyfriend, fuck off you ugly rat.’  _ She doesn’t, because what’s the point? The doctors had given her a week at best. Probably shorter. She had tried to call Phil to tell him but he hadn’t answered and now that Dan’s here she doesn’t want to bring the mood down. Not when Phil’s face held a smile.  _ That  _ smile. The one that lit up the whole room. The one that made his eyes shine. 

 

An hour later, during a lull in the conversation, Dan says that he’s going to find them some lunch. He gives them a little backwards wave as he leaves, slipping through the door and out of sight. 

 

“He’s nice,” Clara says, “I’m happy you’re friends.” 

 

“Me too,” Phil confesses, loosely holding Clara’s hand in his own, “How are you doing,  _ really _ ?” 

 

She’s not surprised by his question but that doesn’t make her want to answer it properly. 

 

“Oh, y’know,” She shrugs, “Could be better, could be worse.” 

 

Phil leans down, his lips inches from hers, “Don’t lie to me?” He pleads. 

 

“I won’t. I’m not, I promise.” Clara feels guilt fill her body. But she ignores it and tilts her head up to press her lips against Phil’s. It’s nothing more than a peck but that’s okay because neither of them really want anything more than that. 

 

“One day,” Phil says, tracing his fingers over the back of her hand, “we’ll be out of here. And we can finally be alive. And happy.” 

 

“You’re not happy now?” 

 

“How can I be? You’re  _ here _ .” 

 

“Your happiness shouldn’t revolve around me, Phil.” Clara protests. 

 

“I know.” Phil lets his gaze fall down to the floor.

 

“So don’t let it.” 

 

“Easier said than done.” Phil says, even a hint of anger in his voice. 

 

“Phil.” Clara brings her fingers up to Phil’s chin, holding it loosely, “ _ I want you to be happy. _ ” 

 

“You deserve to be happy more than I do.” Phil protests. 

 

“No. Don’t think that way.” 

 

Phil doesn’t answer that. He feels tired all of a sudden. Clara doesn’t add anything onto what she said. He feels heavy and wants Dan to come back because maybe that can ease the tension between him and Clara. 

 

“Stop  living in the past, Phil.” Clara finally breaks the silence. “Move on.” 

 

“Please, no.” Phil takes a deep breath. “I can’t talk about this anymore.” 

 

Clara nods, unsteady silence filtering through the room. 

 

“How’s your week been?” Clara asks, but it’s strained and tired and Phil knows that she’d much rather have more important conversations with him - anything other than this, really. 

 

“I got fired.” Phil ends up blurting out, probably not the best thing to say, considering the circumstances. 

 

“Oh  _ Phil _ ,” 

 

He leans his head onto her shoulder and lets her play with his hair, murmuring something encouraging.

 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Everything’s fine… I’m just - I don’t know? Shaken up?” Phil mutters into her shoulder. 

 

“That’s understandable,” She replies, “You’re allowed to feel that way. It was your job.” 

 

He says “Yeah.” It lacks any feeling and there’s nothing else that really has to be said so he lets the silence brush over them again, but he wishes that there was some sort of sound there to drown out his thoughts. 

 

-

 

By the time Dan gets back, Clara has fallen asleep and Phil’s head is buried in his hands. 

 

Dan asks if Phil’s alright, and Phil responds. “It’s just that everything has fallen apart. Or maybe it was never really together. Was it?” 

 

“I don’t know.” It’s the honesty in his voice that makes Phil get up, barely giving Dan enough time to open his arms before Phil is pushing himself into them, holding on tight to fabric of the T-shirt on Dan’s back. 

 

He tells him that everything’s going to be okay because that’s what Dan does, even though they both know that not  _ everything  _ will be okay. But at least  _ some things  _ will be. Eventually. 

 

They let go quickly but feels like years have gone past. 

 

-

 

“I’m tired of you wearing my pajamas, we’re going to your house and you can get some of your own. And get your phone charger, I’m tired of you using mine.” Dan says one morning before breakfast. Two days had past since they had gone to see Clara together. Eleven days since they had met and Phil already considers Dan the person who he trusts most. Not that wise on his part, Dan could still be a serial killer for all he knew. Some of his stuff had already gravitated over to Dan’s flat - A laptop, mismatched socks and T-shirts, other clothes, a mug that someone got him ages ago that has a shib on it because Dan mentioned that he loves dogs - things that had fit so well into Dan’s apartment that Phil had forgotten he had brought them there in the first place. 

 

Annie stays with her boyfriend most nights, leaving her room empty for Phil to use, because even though the flat is quite large, it still only has three bedrooms and Dan gets annoyed when Phil moves too much or talks too loudly in his sleep. 

 

It was almost scary, how quickly both of them had adapted to one another. 

 

-

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a huge thanks (as always) to my amazing beta, Chloe, who has made this fic way better than i could have done on my own
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im so sorry this is late but i dont have an updating schedule away so who really cares

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Dan?” Phil asks groggily. 

 

“Shhh,” Dan presses his finger to his lips, barely visible from the faint light streaming from his iPhone that he is holding above Phil. “C’mon, I wanna show you something,” Dan whispers.

 

“It’s-” Phil squints at the iPhone “Two in the fucking morning.”

 

“So?” Dan protests weakly. 

 

“It’s too early to do anything. Go away.” Phil grumbles, rolling over and tugging the duvet over his head.

 

“Phil, please.” Dan whines, letting real desperation seep into his voice. It’s enough to make Phil pull the blanket down and roll his eyes at Dan.

 

“What d’you want?” Phil questions, struggling up into a sitting position, the duvet having somehow gotten tangled around his legs during the night. 

 

He had fallen asleep on Dan’s shoulder that night, in the middle of watching some anime on the big TV. This was one of the perks of Annie and Taylor going out, as they are the ones that usually watched some shitty romance show on the T.V, leaving Dan and Phil to entertain themselves other ways - Netflix on the laptop being the most common thing, besides sitting out on the patio whilst Dan smoked and Phil sipped on coffee whilst reading a book out loud. Like something out of one of those romance shows that Annie and Taylor watched. Cliche to an embarrassing extent.

 

“Let’s go for a drive.” Dan whispers, keeping his voice hushed. 

 

Phil looks at him quizzically. But there’s something about the look of excitement, mixed with something that’s most likely fueled by insomnia, drawn all over Dan’s face, turning it into one that Phil barely recognizes. He ends up nodding numbly and following Dan, tiptoeing out of the apartment, leaving everything blanketed in sleep. 

 

The thing about Dan--something that Phil had noticed as soon as they had met--was that he never stays still for very long. He is constantly moving, pacing his bedroom late at night or twirling cigarettes around his thin fingers. The way that Dan just spontaneously does things, like taking Phil to a moonlit park. Or more recently now, at this very moment, Dan’s fingers loosely wrapped around Phil’s wrist, an excited smile on his face--not unlike a child on their birthday--urging Phil to walk faster, down the stairwell and to the parking lot, ushering him into the waiting car. Always moving, always ready to go off on some sort of quest, though maybe it was all just a distraction to himself; moving so that he didn’t have time to pause and think about how he felt. 

 

“It’s so pretty,” Dan says, keeping his tone hushed even though there’s no reason to. “I’ve always loved the night.”

 

“Of course you have,” Phil laughs airily, breaking the silence that is barely there. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his head against the thin glass window, his breath fogging it up, partially blotting out the streetlamps that dot the edges of the road and headlights from oncoming cars. 

 

“Not surprised?” Dan glaces to Phil then back at the road. 

 

“You literally have glow in the dark stars painted onto your ceiling,” Phil points out. “So yeah not really surprised you’re a space nerd.” 

 

Dan snorts, reaching his hand forwards to fiddle with the dials on the radio for a second, allowing some obscure punk band’s music to filter through the car. As soon as Dan pulls away, Phil is leaning forward and turning it up until it is almost too loud. He can’t hear whatever Dan is shouting at him--though judging by the little eye-crinkling smile and shake of his head it’s something along the lines of  _ ‘Turn it down you asshole,’  _ but Phil, of course, doesn’t. Neither can he hear himself think. It’s freeing, in the least. 

 

Dan’s rolling down the windows, accelerating even faster down the road. The wind is billowing in, messing up Phil’s hair although he couldn’t care less. He holds one of his arms out of the window, the cold autumn air causing goosebumps to appear. Lights stream through his fingertips. It’s something out of a movie; it really is. It’s exciting and happy and Phil doesn’t think that he ever wants it to end. Not now, not ever. Because right now it doesn’t feel like problems exist. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, having been around Dan before. The energy that he brings to Phil seemingly erases everything else. That’s why, with wind blowing everywhere, Phil smiles, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth. That’s why he’s happy.

 

Dan stops at a red light and Phil retracts his arm, the magic having been broken at the decrease of speed. Dan turns the music back down, though to be fair it’s still quite loud.

 

“You alright?” Dan asks, the pale lights from the streetlamps revealing tears thick in Phil’s azure eyes. 

 

“Yeah,” Phil breathes, “I’m good. Happy.” He nods to confirm his words, glancing back at Dan. 

 

Dan flashes a smile at him. “I’m glad.” and then, because there’s some sort of spell between them, “let’s have this night. Forget about everything else, alright?” 

 

Phil smiles, a real, genuine smile.

“Yes.” 

 

Dan grins back, but keeps his eyes on the road when the lights turn bright green again, urging them on. 

 

Phil has no idea where Dan’s taking him. If he asks, he knows that the answer would be something along the lines of;  _ ‘Surprises are more exciting,’  _ because that’s just who Dan is. Wanting everything to be perfect, to the extent of pretty much kidnapping his so-called friend and dragging him off in the early hours of the morning--of course, Phil’s not complaining. He does agree with Dan, that surprises, as long as they’re good ones, can create a great amount of happiness and badly-contained excitement, visible in the way that Phil, so unlike his normal self, could turn up the sound to some song that he barely recognized and feel the music practically flowing through him, changing him from the anxiety-ridden poor mess that he felt like he really was into someone who could appear to be genuinely happy and confident. 

 

The lights from outside seem almost more pretty and positive than the toned-down punk song that was barely audible in the speeding car. They blurred together, bright white lights from the few other cars that were still driving at this time of night, softer yellows from the streetlamps, red stoplights that Dan barely paid any attention to. Neon lights, pink, yellow, green, declaring names of strip clubs and bars. Dull blue coming from someone’s iPhone, the person to which it belonged was sitting at a bus station, headphones on. Some Christmas lights put up too early, pinned against the border of someone’s living room’s window.

 

The edges of the city have always been Phil’s favorite, and unbeknownst to him, Dan’s as well. Most likely from the way that everything's a bit sleepier; the houses that line the streets don’t have lights shining from within--save for one or two where the TV was still playing and if you looked hard enough you could see people passed out on the sofa, having fallen asleep in the middle of watching some shitty TV show. Occasionally, if you listened hard enough and toned out the music from Dan’s car, you could hear a dog bark, or perhaps an owl calling, though that was much less likely.

 

Dan pulls into the parking lot of a school on the outskirts of London, ignoring the confused look that Phil shot him, and slipped out of the car with ease, motioning to Phil, a silent “ _ c’mon, let’s go.” _

 

Phil can feel excitement fluttering in his stomach, making a smile cross his face. The dew on the grass soaks through his shoes easily, though he barely recognises this fact as his stomach is doing  _ that thing.  _

 

“Hey Dan-” Phil starts, but is cut off with a sharp  _ “shh!”  _ From Dan.

 

“It’s better when you don’t talk.” Dan whispers, stopping a few paces in front of Phil, who had been struggling to keep up with the fast pace that Dan had set. Dan glances over his shoulder and grins at Phil, a look that Phil has become accustomed to over the past few days. He holds out his hand, palm facing towards the sky. Phil rolls his eyes but accepts the offer, slipping his hand into Dan’s, tangling their fingers together, watching Dan’s face for some kind of reaction but finding none.  _ Let’s have this night. Forget about everything else, alright? _

 

The grass underfoot gradually turns into dirt and then polyurethane, marking the beginning of where a track surrounds the football field. Phil can barely make out anything in the dark, the field being positioned far enough away from the road as to not hold any light during the dead of night. Dan drags Phil forewards quickly, paying no attention to the small sound of protest that Phil lets out.  

 

They stop near the middle of the field, the fake plastic grass under their feet covering in dew, making everything slippery. 

 

“Now lay down,” Dan murmurs, almost to himself, as he pulls Phil down with him, not loosening his hold on the other’s hand.

 

The fake grass pokes at the back of Phil’s neck and the moisture that had gathered there soaks through his clothes. He’s lying close enough to Dan that their sides are pressed together, shoulder, hip, leg. Dan’s features are lit up slightly by the starlight, creating shadows across his face. His hair is curly, pushed up into a quiff so that it will stay out of his face. Tattoos that covered so many inches of Dan’s skin were covered by a soft jumper, the black material of which clashed with the soft appearance of his face under the sky. 

 

Dan says, “Stop looking at me,” His eyes meet Phil’s, “Look up there, instead.”

 

Phil turns his gaze away from Dan quickly, and looks up towards the sky, trying in vain to ignore the thin blush that had spread across his cheeks. The stars that are apparent in the sky take every thought of Dan out of Phil’s tired mind. Phil’s never been able to pick constellations out of the sky with much ease, always having settled on the simplicity of admiring their beauty over knowing an abundance of frivolous facts. 

 

A dark curtain had been drawn over the rays of sun that so vividly lit up the sky during the daytime. Instead, you can see  _ everything.  _ Because maybe, the sun’s the curtain and beyond that is what really matters. A curtain that during the day held forms of safety for the humans, which relied on light to see. Who thought that light always had to exual goodness. For as long as there had been people; people feared the dark. Obviously, this must have had something to do with a human’s survival instincts,  _ ‘don’t go outside at night or else a big ol’ bear will come and eat your face off’,  _ though, in our current position in time; these thoughts are meaningless as we have technology that can push the downfalls to the brink of extinction. 

 

The lights that glimmer in the sky weren’t truly able to be compared to anything that belongs on earth, not by Dan’s standards, anyway. Phil’s too, though he was noticable less passionate about the night sky. The air was cold, even for late autumn in England, but neither of the boys were really all that bothered by it. Granted, the goosebumps on Phil’s body would protest that statement, but other than that, and the tips of their noses being touched with pink, they weren’t bothered. Weren’t bothered because the stars would and could and do erase all the -even if it was slight- discomfort.

 

For that reason; both of them are easily tugged into the constellation’s icy hold.

 

The stars, and space in general, to Dan, had always been an escape. An escape to be away from the cloud that always surrounded him. Maybe it was just because he was caught up in a crises -- too busy or his mind too loud to really let the depression grasp him. Though, everything has an end and Dan’s end with the stars had come years ago; most likely around the same time that the drinking had started. He’ll argue with you if you suggest that he’s an alcoholic. But then again; does everybody really know themselves as much as they think they do? The smoking was one thing; every cigarette was his last one until he wanted another, using the admittedly truthful but never spoken to anybody excuse of  _ ‘It makes the clouds go away’ _ . No, he had the drinking under control. He didn’t always need a drink. 

 

Phil’s thinking of Clara even though he’d rather be thinking of literally anything else. The stars, however much pain they can wash away, cannot make a dent in the sheer amount of emotional baggage that Phil was lugging around. 

 

To be able to forget about something; you had to really  _ want  _ to let it leave your mind for a moment. 

 

The stars helped. They always did. But their power had limits and Phil might be beyond the limits. 

 

Inside their minds; constellations are connecting into one another. Patterns drawn by nebulas, the moon blissfully pale, speaking to something within them. 

 

The stars are scattered throughout the dark indigo, breaking the illusion of  infinity, whilst impossibly making infinity seem like that is the only thing that there really is. Impossible; though at the very same moment the only thing that was possible. 

 

Maybe the best thing about looking at the purity of the universe was being able to see how everything is connected. 

 

Maybe everything’s connected to the stars; after all, everyone’s made of stardust, our world coming into being with the explosion and crashing of stars.

 

Maybe Clara was meant to die; maybe that’s what the stars were saying.

  
Maybe Dan and Phil’s story had already been writing in galactic ink, deep in space, dancing around them. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a huge thanks to Chloe as always 
> 
> (comments are nice too)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more frequent chapters coming?? if i can get my shit together?? maybe??? stay tuned

  
  


 

 

 

They don’t stay in the field for long. Just long enough for the stars to touch their hearts and the cold air to chill their fingertips and their minds to calm down - however slight it may be.

 

Dan lights up a cigarette as they walk back to the car, ignoring the look that Phil shot him. 

 

In his mind, he tells himself that this is the last one.

 

“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘carpe diem’?” Phil suddenly blurts out, almost stumbling on a tuft of grass, but catches himself in time.

 

“Isn’t it latin?” Dan says back, flicking ash onto the ground.

 

“Yeah, apparently it means, ‘seize the day’.” Phil laughs airily before continuing, “Thought you above all people would know pretentious latin phrases.” 

 

“Nah, that’s just you,” Dan deadpans, pausing a moment, “So basically it’s a fancy and unnecessary way of saying fuck everything and do whatever the hell you want?” 

 

“If that’s how you interpret it, yeah sure.” Phil replies, shoving his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

 

“What do you interpret it as, then?” Dan asks, his voice portraying genuine interest. 

 

Phil’s face flushes bright red, though it’s difficult to see in the darkness. His answer comes easy, as if it’s been on the tip of his tongue this whole time, “It’s about following whatever you want to do at that moment… like, to not let other people influence what you want. Or like, to not depend on people? Like to ‘seize the day’, on your own. Y’know?”

 

Dan nods, “Yeah, kind of. But why do you need to say ‘fuck it’ alone? Why all the solidarity, Mr. Philip?” 

 

A smile sneaks it’s way onto Phil’s lips, shaking his head lightly but answering all the same, “I’ve always been  _ so  _ dependent on people, and I don’t even know that many people. I don’t know, I just want to like, do something without worrying about how other people are doing, or how my choices affect them.” 

 

“You’re talking about Clara, right?” Dan asks softly, the humor being erased from his voice.

 

“Yeah… I guess.” Phil walks to the other side of the car, slipping in without another word. Dan stays outside for a little while more, finishing of the cigarette and looking up towards the constellations one more time.

 

He enters the car with a defiant, “ If you can’t say fuck it now, then you’ll never be able to do it.”  

 

Phil shakes his head slightly, “That doesn’t even make any sense.” 

 

“You need to stop being so scared of trying new things.” Dan shoots back, as if that explained everything.

 

“Not sure if you haven’t been able to tell, but I have this little thing called anxiety.” Phil fiddles with his fingers in his lap.

 

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean that it defines your whole existence.” Dan argues quietly.

 

“It almost does.” Phil mutters. This time Dan doesn’t reply. He doesn’t waste his time trying to convince Phil of something that he’s not open to, not yet. Instead, he plugs in his phone, and throws it at Phil, telling him to pick a song. 

 

The music’s too loud again, but it lacks the spark of life that had flown through the car on the drive to the field. 

 

Everything feels less free when you’re not running away.

 

-

 

Dan pulls into the fast food drive through, a; “Getting ice cream at three in the morning is the best way of saying ‘fuck it’,” on his his lips and a smile crossing across Phil’s pale face in the corner of his eye.

 

-

 

Phil licks at his ice cream, whilst Dan takes a handful of fries and shoves them in his mouth, like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. 

 

He’d parked the car on the outskirts of civilization, claiming that it was the ‘best place in the whole world’ to watch the sun rise. 

 

“It’s not that anxiety rules over my life,” Phil tries saying, avoiding Dan’s eyes, “It’s just that… Doing things without being affected in some way by it is - well, it’s really hard.”

 

“Have you tried therapy? Going on meds?” Dan asks between mouthfuls of fast food.

 

“Yeah. Both, actually. Ran out of meds the other day, and the therapist is all booked up for now.” Phil answers easily.

 

“Don’t you have a prescription for more?” Dan inquires, glancing up at Phil, who’s still licking at the ice cream. 

 

“Not really,” Phil sighs, “It’s… I don’t know. Complicated. I have to talk to the doctors and shit but I can’t.” 

 

“So,” Dan says after a second, “What are you going to do,  _ now _ ?” 

 

“Try living.” Phil looks back at Dan, properly this time. Not just stolen side glances. 

 

He’s caught up in the brown eyes and the tattoos curling at his neck and his expression, soft, but hard at the same time. Truthful, no lies told. Smoke and honey on his breath and promises that he has yet to keep. 

 

“Carpe diem, eh?” Dan murmurs, blinking at Phil before breaking off the eye contact, biting his bottom lip briefly and feeling the metal of his snakebites against the inside of his mouth. 

 

“Mhh... “ phil hums, “Carpe diem.” 

 

-

 

The sun lights everything up, adding a soft overlay to the waking city. The stars, upon seeing the sun’s rise, flicker and die down, their beauty numbed by the sun’s close rays. 

 

Carpe diem is waking up before the sun reaches the world and living when all others are sleeping through the best version of the world. Carpe diem is eating your way through the last of your ice cream cone as dozens of birds wake, forcing the city to hear their cries.

 

Carpe diem is living when all you want to do is slip away to nothingness.

 

-

 

Phil watches Dan’s face with wariness. There’s something akin to longing in the other boys gaze. But how can you long for something that you’ve never really had? Are you then just longing for a saving grace, some way to escape your suffering?

 

The sun is almost all the way up, washing away the traces of the night left behind them, stuck now in thoughts.

 

Phil says, “We’re both so messed up.” 

 

And Dan shrugs, letting his lifeless-looking eyes drift away from the skyline and meet Phil’s, “Everyone’s a bit messed up.”

 

“Like this?” Phil argues, “You look like you’re going to pass out. You get suddenly sad and you hate the taste of smoke but you still fill your lungs with it.”

 

“Thanks for picking out all my flaws.” Dan deadpans. 

 

“They’re not flaws,” Phil murmurs, “They’re issues that won’t go away.” 

 

“Either way, i’m fucked, eh?” Dan puts a lopsided grin on his face, though it’s empty of emotion, “All the fucked up ones are the ones to say ‘fuck it’.” 

 

Phil narrows his eyes, “You can’t bring some latin saying into this.” 

 

“Why not?” Dan shoots back, arching his back and stretching his arms up, wincing at the sound of his neck cracking. 

 

“Because a saying about trying to make the most of your life cannot be compared to fucking mental illnesses, Danny boy,” Phil sighs.

 

“Firstly, don’t call me that,” Dan glares at Phil. It lacks any real anger though, “Carpe diem is saying that you have to live your day to it’s fullest potential, right?” 

 

Phil nods to confirm this fact.

 

“Then, if you have a mental illness, or really any illness, you won’t necessarily be living the day to it’s fullest, will you? Like people without social anxiety can go on a bus without feeling like they’re drowning. And people without depression can feel real happiness without being surrounded by badness that doesn’t really exist.”  Dan turns the key in the ignition, looking in the rearview mirror as he backs out of the parking space.

 

Then, Phil says, “So, the fact still stands that we’re both messed up.” 

 

And then Dan says, “The only things that aren’t messed up are the stars in the sky.” 

 

After that, Phil’s phone rings. 

 

His face runs pale as he answers it.

 

His bottom lip trembles and whatever carefree jokingly that had been left over from the night with Dan under that stars evaporated from the suddenly-tense atmosphere.

 

He says, “Yeah,” and, “Okay,” and “I’ll be right there.” 

 

Dan’s eyes flick between Phil’s pale face and the road. 

 

Vaguely, Phil realises that his whole body is shaking.

 

He hangs up the phone, trying to slip it back into his pocket but his hands aren’t working properly so he just ends up resting it on the centre console. 

 

He says, “We need to go to the hospital,” in a scarily-steady voice.

 

Dan’s hand finds Phil’s and he squeezes tightly.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry its so short lol


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

 

 

Phil’s hand is limp in Dan’s. His azure eyes, which are normally full of  _ something,  _ now hold barely anything. Sure, there are bits and pieces of emotions stacked around like puzzle pieces in his tired gaze, but it seems as if all the real life has been sucked out of him. 

 

Like a broken shell.

 

Or, simply a man who is a puzzle, and had lost half his puzzle pieces.

 

The roads aren’t busy yet at this time in the morning, so Dan allows his eyes to flit between the road in front of him and to Phil, who stares fixedly out the front window, refusing to speak, or at the very least, refusing to speak coherent sentences. There have been words muttered here and there, like Phil was thinking so loudly that he was accidently speaking a few of the words from his thoughts out loud.

 

There was a time where Dan would have pressed him, asking for answers to the questions attacking his own mind.  _ What happened? Is it Clara? Are you okay? Will you be okay?  _ He doesn’t ask, because Phil is an ancient marble pillar in some long-dead city, ivy crawling its way up, holding her together but at the same time adding enough pressure to the marble that it eventually begins to crack.

 

Phil’s made of marble, Phil’s made of glass, Phil’s the ink you accidently spill on the pages after a drunken night out, a mistake to remember. He’s when the stars shine down, illuminating a meaningless world that he strives to find meaning in. He’s a man, sad and broken and scared, cracking under the pressure of too many thoughts. 

 

Running, running, running his thoughts are everywhere, scattered about and tied together, leaving him gasping for air and desperate for some sort of salvation. 

 

Dan watches him, his eyes somewhere between the road ahead of him and the man beside him. He squeezed his fingers around Phil’s, like he can somehow convince the other that he isn't alone. But Phil was deaf and unresponsive, his breath coming in quick gasps though Dan can’t tell if he’s having an anxiety attack because Phil’s simply too spaced out to  _ be  _ anything. 

 

A marble pillar, cracking. 

 

Eyes, azure and tear-filled, lacking emotion. 

 

Dan’s hyper aware when he

rubs his thumb over the back of Phil’s hand, almost as if he’s trying to drag him back into reality. 

 

-

 

Everything smells fresh and clean, footsteps echoing down the corridors in the hospital. Phil blinks the tears out of his eyes, tightening his grip on Dan’s hand, using it as a way to ground himself. It is hard to breath so he finds himself taking exaggerated deep breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating. Dan’s murmuring something comforting to Phil, but he can’t really  _ hear  _ it, he cjust picks up on the comfort.

 

-

 

Both of Clara’s parents are standing outside the door to her room. Her Mum is crying hard, tears streaming down her face, her chin trembling, forehead all creased up, taking one glance at the two boys and then burying her face into her husband’s shoulder, her frail body shaking. 

 

Dan’s hand squeezes around Phil’s, reassuring him. Telling him, silently, that everything will be okay. 

 

But it isn’t okay because there is a heavy weight somewhere in Phil’s chest and he feels like he’s honest-to-god  _ breaking.  _

 

Phil tries to open his mouth to talk to Clara’s parents, tries to ask them what happened. What  _ is  _ happening. But his mouth won’t open, the words catch on something in his throat, leaving him gasping for breath, his hand shaking in Dan’s grasp. 

 

_ Dan.  _ Dan who’s strong and tall and trying so hard to put on a brave face, but if Phil were to look at him, he’d instantly know how uncomfortable and  _ sad  _ he is. Because Dan’s stuck in a black cloud of something that won’t go away, and surrounding himself with people that are full of deep despair is doing nothing to help his mental state. He wants to leave--wants to escape from all of this, to go back to a dew-covered field and watch the beauty of the night sky above him. 

 

But now there’s cold tiles under his feet and a ceiling above his head, the lights that were built in let off a faint buzzing noise, barely audible over all the generic hospital noises--keyboards clicking, doctors talking, machines whirring. If you listened really hard, you’d be able to hear the T.V. in the waiting room broadcasting something about sports. 

 

Dan would give anything to be able to leave the hallway outside Clara’s room and go sit in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room. But he can’t because there is Phil and Phil’s falling apart before his very eyes. 

 

He takes a deep breath, slower and less pained than Phil’s, just to clear his head a bit. He clears his throat, catching one of his snakebites between his teeth, the cold metal a strong contrast to the warmth of his mouth. 

 

He tries to keep himself steady and soft while he talks, though it’s hard due to atmosphere around them. “What happened?” His voice cuts through the tension like a knife, the sound slightly raspy and hardened. 

 

Clara’s father winces, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before turning his gaze to Dan. He pauses, fighting for a breath, forcing himself to face the truth. “She’s dying.” 

 

If Phil had been listening, he might have started crying. Or screaming. Perhaps he would have collapsed onto the floor, cold tiles numbing whatever searing pain he’d no doubt be in. Or maybe he would have just turned around and left, leaving a certain tattoo-covered boy to deal with the aftermath of a girl’s slow death after an unrelenting illness. 

 

But, for whatever reason, Phil doesn’t hear. Too locked away in his own mind to realize that the rest of the world exists outside of his shell. His hand is laced with Dan’s, and, unbeknownst to both the men, their hearts are beating frantically in sync.

 

Or, effectively; two parts of a whole, leaning on each other for strength, trying in vain to get through whatever life threw at them. 

 

But Phil’s so disassociated that he can barely feel Dan’s hand in his own. And for Dan, the cloud of badness that so often took Dan into its grip was there again, making his throat itch with the sudden need to go have a smoke and maybe even a few drinks at the bar down the road. 

 

He doesn’t, though. Or rather, he can’t. He’s tied here by Phil, a pale hand limp in his, blue eyes with a far-away look in them. 

 

-

 

It’s not until later that doctors filter out of Clara’s room, grim looks upon their faces, telling the small group waiting outside her room what was happening. 

 

In the end, this was it. Life, death. Whatever. Carpe diem, all boiling down to the meaningless of  _ everything  _ after death took it’s final hold. 

 

Phil is coming back to who he was, his eyes gaing that spark back, slowly but surely. He still doesn’t seem to be listening to anyone, completely ignoring the low voices of the other adults. There’s something under Phil’s skin that makes everything itchy and uncomfortable. It’s so different from being under the stars with Dan. He can’t stop thinking of the past, which ironically is the one thing that he’d like to do right now: stop thinking. 

 

_ Clara’s hands were soft against his chest, her lips on his jaw impossibly gentle. There was a smile playing on her face and her golden hair was pulled back up into a loose bun. She was wearing one of Phil’s old T-shirts, hanging loosely over her shoulders, show casing her prominent collar bones.  _

 

_ She teased her fingers over Phil’s sensitive shin, marvelling over how pale it was. Phil watched her movements through half-lidded eyes, His hands securely holding her in place on his lap. She whispered something in his ear and a blush spreads quickly across Phil’s features.  _

 

_ There’s something about the lazy and heat-filled atmosphere that made any problems that Phil may have had fade away.  _

 

_ It put a dimmer switch on the rest of reality, allowing the two to live inside their own little bubble, in a way.  _

 

_ Her hands were careful and soft, the smile on her face shaped into a gentle and caring tone.  _

 

_ Their own little bubble.  _

 

_ Miles away from anybody else.  _

 

_ Soft and gentle and caring and lazy and calm. A little bubble of peace.  _

 

Dan’s pulling him into Clara’s room. He doesn’t want to look, not really. Someone who used to be so strong, all broken and beaten and battered down by something that she can’t possibly have ever deserved. Phil, beside him, can barely register what’s happening. Denial, some people would have called it. Or, alternatively, The Ways In Which Love Destroys Us. 

 

A touch of a hand, a punk boy showing him the stars with pride. 

  
To a hospital room, stuffy and sick. Despair swallowing them whole.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave comments theyre all i have


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi lol have you forgotten about this fic yet im sorry i hardly ever update it but writing is hella hard 89% of the time so stick with me i swear i'll finish this fic eventually

 

 

 

 

“Phil.”

 

“Stay with me.” 

 

“I know it’s hard but I need you here.” 

 

“Phil.” 

 

“Breathe.”

 

“It’s not okay right now, I know, but stay with me here.” 

 

“Dammit, Phil!” 

 

There are hands on his shoulders, fingernails digging deftly into his skin through his clothes. He can’t breath. There’s a weight on his chest and he can’t see. 

 

There’s a monster in his mind. Anxiety. It’s eating away at who he is, preying on his weakness. 

 

There’s sound around him, screaming high-pitched cries of  _ terror.  _ Something’s causing his body to tremble. He feels like he's been doused in cold water and hot lava at the same time, it’s something deeper than hollow fear. 

 

He can’t feel the hands on his shoulders anymore. 

 

And then, everything’s black. 

 

-

 

Clara’s parents had gone into her room first. Dan had heard their muffled cries. A shock of something goes down his spine but he took a deep breath and told himself to stay strong. For Phil, if for nobody else. 

 

But then, beside him, as they follow Clara’s parents into the room, Phil stops breathing. Or something. 

 

There’s a muffled gasp of pain, as if Phil didn’t, or  _ couldn’t,  _ quite believe that Clara was really gone. Or going, as her chest barely rose and fell, connected to numerous machines designed for the sole purpose of keeping dead people alive. 

 

He turns to Phil, putting his hands on his shoulders, concern thick in his eyes. 

 

“Phil?” He asks, trying to keep his voice soft and welcoming. 

 

But Phil’s eyelids flutter shut and his breathing just speeds up, before stopping all together. 

 

At that moment, Dan thinks,  _ This is too much,  _ and,  _ I can’t deal with this,  _ but somehow he still manages to keep his voice somewhat steady, trying to reach Phil through whatever was fighting him.

 

_ Too, too much.  _

 

_ Not even a little bit too much.  _

 

_ All the way, 100%, extremely too much.  _

 

It’s crushing him down, and God, how much he wishes he could be on a the balcony with Phil, breathing smoke into his lungs and trying to ignore the little side-glances that Phil sends him. 

 

Dan tries to shove depression away. But it’s hard. It’s  _ so  _ fucking hard. 

 

Phil is shaking in front of him. His eyes are squeezed tight shut. The corners of his mouth are turned down in a frown. He is not breathing. 

 

And then, he collapses to the ground in a rumpled heap. 

 

-

 

There’s a nurse holding a paper cup full of water to his lips, a glare on her face. She doesn’t appear to enjoy her job at all. Vaguely, Phil recognises where he is. On the chair, beside Clara’s bed. She’s laying there. Phil tries to find the faint rise and fall of her chest, though it’s so slight that he can barely see it. 

 

Clara’s parents are leaning over her bed, watching her intently. You can see the grief plain and clear in their body language. 

 

Dan’s nowhere to be seen. Phil tries to convince himself that he isn’t wondering where he had gone. 

 

He grabs the cup from the nurse’s hand and downs it, though it slops over his shirt a bit because his hands are shaking so much.

 

Someone says that she might still be able to hear them. Her mum immediately starts babbling about how much she loves her. About how much she’ll  _ miss  _ her. 

 

God, it’s depressing. Phil envies Dan, who could just leave. Who  _ did  _ just leave. 

 

-

 

There’s no big moment of her death. Phil’s sitting there, holding her hand tightly in his. Her parents are on her other side. Her mum is crying so loudly she’s practically screaming. And then, the doctor is there and he’s unplugging her from the machines and she just. Stops. Stops existing. 

 

Phil wonders if she felt it. He wonders if she actually  _ wanted  _ to stay alive. He’s not crying. 

 

-

 

Dan had been sitting in the hallway outside. He scrambles up to his feet when Phil stumbles out of Clara’s room, opening his arms wide. Phil falls into them. Of course he does, he always does. He loses track of where Clara’s parents are and focuses solely on breathing. 

 

He might be shuddering in Dan’s hold.

 

But he’s too far gone to tell.

 

-

_ No, no, no, no no nononono no please no. _

 

_ Come back, please? I kind of really, really need you here right now.  _

 

_ Because you make everything seem like it’s going to be okay. _

 

_ I don’t think that it will be okay, not now at the very least. Because you’re not here, are you? Fuck.  _

 

_ You dragged me down with you, didn’t you? Not even a goodbye, huh? After all we’d been through. You just. Left me here, hanging, piled up under the weight of. Nothing. The weight of nothingness.  _

 

_ God, Clara. Come back, please? I’m not even sure why I’m asking. You’re dead. Dead, deceased, gone. It was a long time coming. That’s what everybody keeps telling me. Well. That, and, the “it's going to be okay.” It’s mostly Dan who’s saying that last one though. We’re alone here, still. It’s been hours. I can’t move, and Dan won’t leave without me.  _

 

_ You really wanted to die, didn’t you.  _

 

_ Fuck. I wish I could have gotten a goodbye.  _

_   
_ _ At the very least, don’t I deserve that?  _

 

_ After everything, fate is really still this cruel.  _

 

_ Just… come back and make everything okay again. _

 

-

 

Phil is not feeling how he thinks he should be feeling. Shouldn’t he be sad? Why isn’t he?

 

Numb. That’s what he feels. Numb and unresponsive and emotionally  _ gone.  _ Like he’s not even really there, somehow. 

 

-

 

Days pass spent in some realm between wakefulness and sleep, Dan’s constant doubt and anxiety is not helping Phil with dealing with his own; but they are doing what they can.

 

Doing what they can means that Phil lies on the sofa for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. Occasionally someone tries to call him, but after a while his phone dies so he doesn’t even have to listen to it ring a few times before going to voicemail. Other times, Dan or one of his roommates tries to engage him in some sort of conversation. 

 

Suddenly Annie punches his shoulder and hands him a giant cup of coffee mixed with God-knows-what and almost yells “Get up motherfucker!” 

 

It is hard.  _ God,  _ it’s so fucking hard. 

 

-

 

Dan’s mind is more of a mess than he thought it could possibly be. The cloud of depression is there, of course. It is always there. It is a part of him. But it isn’t  _ him.  _ It is separate. 

 

Except that lately it’s getting harder and harder to recognize it as something that’s not  _ him.  _ The cloud, it’s surrounding him. Consuming more and more of him until he feels like  _ nothing.  _

 

He tries to remain upbeat and happy as well as he can, putting on a mask whenever he is around other people. 

 

-

 

_ What are you doing now? Without me up there? Do you shine like the stars? Are you happier now? Does the moon call your name and does your body feel like a supernova?  _

 

_ Do you live on in the stars? _

 

-

 

The days pass in a blur. Neither of the boys are really paying attention to  _ anything.  _ When Phil accepts a drink from someone, he doesn’t wince at the burn of the liquid going down his sore throat. He barely realizes the fact that he hasn’t showered in nearly a  _ week.  _ Everyone avoids him, even Dan, who, out of everyone in the house, would definitely be considered the closest the the other boy. He goes to work, coming back with ink stained on his hands and a grim frown placed on his face. 

 

Dan wants to go back to therapy. But in doing that, he feels like he would be taking a step backwards. Back to how broken he was in the past. 

 

But now, isn’t he just as broken? 

 

-

 

_ We’re always changing, aren’t we?  _

 

_ But is this one _

  
_ Simply Too Much. _

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments pls


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,,,,,,,uhh,,, has it really been that long? 
> 
>  
> 
> i am So Sorry. Blame depression

 

 

 

 

Hope is diminished quickly, Phil’s world turning into a hazy wasteland before his eyes. 

 

_ Stop. Look up, through your eyelashes, is the world in black and white? Painted into shades of grey? Or are colours splashed everywhere?  _

 

Black and whites, greys and dark purple bruises. That’s what his world is.

 

_ Are you remembering to breath? Have you spoken today?  _

 

His throat is sore and his lungs ache.

 

_ How does your heart feel? _

 

It’s broken. Shattered. There’s too many broken pieces to count. God, it hurts so much. There’s too many pieces to ever hope to put them all back together. Some pieces are with someone else, someone whom no longer exists. He can’t get those pieces back. He’s missing them, forever a wasteland full of broken shards, hopes and dreams that can no longer ever be fulfilled. 

 

_ And how is your mind? Is it any better than your heart?  _

 

It might even be more broken than his heart, his brain is screaming at him with every heartbeat, telling him things that aren’t true.

 

_ You’re worthless, you know that, right? You’re broken and lost and nobody wants you anymore because now that Clara’s gone you’re just an empty shell that nobody can be bothered to care about. When was the last time your parents called you? Not any time recently, huh? What about your brother? When was the last time you even saw him? Clara’s parents won’t care about you anymore either, now that their daughter is gone.  _

 

_ What about Dan? Do you really think that he cares about you, truely? I know that he doesn’t. It’s a fact that he doesn’t. He’s simply using you as a distraction from his own problems, you’re nothing to him. At all. He wouldn’t even notice if you were gone. In fact, if you did leave, he’d be happy. He’d be happy that he finally was able to get rid of an anxiety-filled asshole like you. _

 

_ You are nothing. You are expendable. Nobody cares. You get scared by going on a bus, for fuck’s sake. You’re not normal. You’re broken. You’re damaged goods. You're tired and sad and scared all the time. _

 

_ What about a job, huh? Don’t have one, eh? Yeah. That’s because you can’t. Do. ANYTHING. Right.  _

 

_ Broken, broken, broken. _

 

Are you remembering to breath? Breathing is good, it keeps us alive. Remember that. Take a deep breath, now. 

 

Phil sucks in a huge breath through his nose, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He holds it for five seconds, then opens his mouth a bit to let it out. 

 

Is your head clearer, now? Have your hands stopped shaking, is your brain a little calmer? 

 

_ No, no, no, no, no.  _

 

It will be okay.

 

“Phil?” Someone’s voice breaks through the mess that is his mind. His eyes flutter open to take in one of Dan’s worried expression. 

 

“Hi,” he says, his voice small. Pitiful, even.

 

“How’re you holdin’ up?” Dan’s voice is gruff. Almost like he’s trying to protect himself behind a shield of something hard enough to save him from the very same pain the Phil is feeling.

 

Phil rolls his eyes, “Seriously Dan? How does it  _ look _ like I’m holding up?” 

 

“Right.” Dan sits down on the floor in front of the couch of which Phil is lying on. “Stupid question.” 

 

“Yeah, it really is.” Phil agrees. 

 

“The point still stands though, tell me about how you’re feeling.” Dan says. 

 

Phil shakes his head ever so slightly. “There’s no way I can even begin to do that.”

 

“Why?” Dan asks.

 

“Because it’s too complicated for  _ me  _ to understand, there’s no use trying to explain it to you.” Phil snaps.

 

“Oh,” Dan sighs. He reaches one hand up to put it on Phil’s shoulder in what he hoped was a somewhat reassuring and comforting gesture, but Phil just shrugs him off.

 

-

 

“Carpe diem.” Dan shouts the next morning, shoving a steaming mug of coffee into Phil’s tired face. 

 

“What the  _ actual  _ fuck, Dan?” Phil mumbles, heavy bags under his eyes showing that he had been crying. He’s in Dan’s bed this time, propped up by an extraordinary amount of pillows. 

 

“We’re gonna do something today, Philly.” Dan says triumphantly. He prods one of Phil’s shoulders, “We’re gonna do something  _ fun. _ ” 

 

“Dan.” Phil sighs exasperatedly, “please, give me some time.” 

 

Today’s a bad day. Well, everyday was a bad day, it was just that some bad days were less bad than other bad days. Today was one of the worst bad days. 

 

Phil had woken up all sweaty and shaking. He has dreamt of Clara dying, over and over again. Every single time he hadn’t been able to save her. He had cried into a pillow until his throat was raw and lips were chapped. 

 

Anxiety had jumped on him right away, screaming things at him that weren’t true. 

 

And now Dan, who had only good intentions in his mind, was only making it worse by being loud and seemingly obnoxiously happy. 

 

“You need to get out of bed and  _ do  _ something Phil!” Dan says in a sing-song voice, quickly putting the mug of coffee on the bedside table as not to accidentally spill it everywhere. 

 

Dan sits on the edge of the bed and lamely attempts to pull the thick duvet off of Phil’s thin frame, “I hate seeing you like this. Come with me. We can do somthing happy.” 

 

“Dan, you’ve never seen me any other way. And no, I’m not coming with you.” Phil grumbles softly. 

 

“I  _ have  _ seen you other ways.” Dan retorts, letting his hands fall into his lap. 

 

Phil glares at him, “Stop.” 

 

Phil has to clench his hands to stop them from trembling. He thinks that Dan finally catches on to the seriousness in his eyes, because he actually backs off a little. He shuffles down closer to the foot of the bed and offered Phil a small, sympathetic smile instead of a loud and boisterous one. After a minute he says, “I’m sorry,” and Phil knows that he shouldn’t accept everyone’s apologies right away but old habits die hard and he nods his head a little bit, “It’s okay,” 

 

Dan says, “I should go, shouldn’t I?” 

 

Again, Phil nods, “please.” 

 

Dan stands up slowly, “but… Phil. Please don’t ever think you’re alone in this. When you’re ready - just know that you can always come to me, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” and with that, Dan turns and walks out of the room swiftly, making sure to close the door behind him. 

 

Maybe it’s a bad thing that he’s left Phil alone with only his destructive thoughts as company, but maybe it’s a good thing, too. At the very least, it’s quieter now, and calmer. 

 

Dan’s like the sun. His energy is loud and obnoxious and is you look at him for too long your eyes start hurting because it’s too bright. Of course, he still has his demons to fight, as depression was a bitch. But he could easily appear to be happy. Whether or not that happiness is genuine is a completely other story. 

 

Phil feels like the moon. He’s quite a bit duller, not as flashy as the sun. He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself and likes to be on his own for the most part. Occasionally he’ll let someone else into his own personal world and that where he’s most vulnerable, but that comes very rarely. 

 

Complete opposites, and yet somehow they were so similar at the exact same time. 

 

Similar, because they both felt like they were broken, damaged goods. They both felt like the best versions of themselves had come and gone, and were now living a somewhat meaningless life. They both found vague comfort in the sight of the stars and they both managed to find themselves in a latin phrase. 

 

Dan’s energy burns up both him and the people around him. One day he’s sure to explode just like a dying star; creating new things in it’s wake, causing utmost destruction. 

 

Maybe, for now at the very least, Clara had been that star and had just collapsed within herself - dying and leaving everybody who cared about her to deal with the aftermath. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
